Those Little Moments
by Randomcat100
Summary: Pre The Angel Experiment. Jeb has just rescued six children from living hell, six children who hold a role in the fate of mankind. One of whom is his daughter. But this is not a story of angst and action. This is the story of how six broken, mutant children came to trust and love a man who was once their torturer - and how he betrayed them without a care in the world.
1. Bath

Those Little Moments: A Maximum Ride Story

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**Hi, and thanks for stopping to check out my latest Maximum Ride story, ****_Those Little Moments_****. This story of Jeb and the young Flock will start out as rather dark, so be warned, and gradually grow sweeter. **

**Also, yes, I am well aware that Max is acting rather out of character. This is how I perceived her and the rest of the Flock to be after leaving the School.**

**My cover image for this story is a small collection of images for my dream actors to play Angel, the Gasman, and Nudge if there is ever a Maximum Ride movie. Top: (Nudge) Amandla Stenberg as Rue in The Hunger Games. Middle: (The Gasman) Daniel Huttlestone as Gavroche in the recent 2012 movie musical of ****_Les Misérables._**** Bottom: (Angel) Isabelle Allen as young Cosette, also in the 2012 movie musical of ****_Les Misérables._**** Aren't they sweet?**

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Chapter One: Bath

Jeb glanced over his shoulder. The children were in the backseat of the car, asleep. They were all filthy and dressed in worn old pillowcases. He was glad he'd purchased them sleepclothes the night before, all based on the annual measurements all subjects would undergo.

At last, he pulled into the garage and climbed out of the pickup truck. Jeb opened one of the side doors and gave Maximum's shoulder a gentle shake. At once, she jerked from sleep, flinching away. It seemed to take her several moments to adjust to her new surroundings, and when she did, she shrunk back and eyed him warily.

"Come, Maximum." Jeb said softly. "Wake the others. We're going inside."

She continued to stare at him, and he saw all the hatred and fear in those eyes. He intended to fix that, or at least, he hoped he could. The brain patterns he'd collected assumed such results, but one could never be sure. That was what this experiment was for.

Maximum woke the other children. She climbed out of the pickup holding Iggy's hand and hoisting a sleeping two-year-old Angel on her hip. She did not complain or whimper when her bare feet touched the snowy ground, didn't even flinch. Jeb reached for Angel, but she pulled away. Dejected, he allowed her to continue. He led the children to the house, with the one called Fang carrying the four-year-old Gasman on his back and the seven-year-old (he was always forgetting what she'd called herself) at his front. The children entered the house and looked around.

"Now, how about we give you a nice bath, _hmm_?" Jeb asked enthusiastically. None of the children responded, and Jeb knew why. A bath at the Lab meant the subjects having ice-cold soapy water thrown over their heads once a month. They didn't even _know_ what a real bath was.

Trying to remain gentle, Jeb reached out for Maximum. She pulled away from his touch, her wide brown eyes never leaving his face once. Jeb sighed and bent down. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his words slow and gentle.

Maximum stared at him for a long time until at last she slowly set Angel down and took a step towards him. Jeb reached for her again, and she flinched away with a small whimper. "I'm not going to hurt you, Maximum," Jeb repeated. This time when she reached for her, she let him take her hand, but she stiffened under his touch. He could feel her tiny body trembling in fear. He tried to stroke her back, but she began to cry ever harder and he knew he should stop.

Jeb led Maximum to the small bathroom, where he sat her on the edge of the toilet and began to draw some water for a bath. As he fiddled with the temperature, he noticed the way she looked around, craning her neck to take in her surroundings. At last, Jeb stopped the water and she jumped, then sat very still.

"Come, Maximum," Jeb coaxed. "Let's take off that dirty old rag you're wearing."

She obeyed him, standing perfectly still as he undid the buttons that held her pillowcase-like outfit together. The grimy fabric came loose, crumpling at her feet. Her wings were folded tightly, but she slowly spread them out to reveal a back covered in ugly burn marks and reddened welts, spine protruding prominently. She'd been starved horribly for all ten years of her life. That, combined with her light bird bones, meant she weighed only thirty pounds, despite being tall for her age at four and a half feet.

"Climb into the tub, I'll clean you up."

He scrubbed her clean while she sat in silence, her eyes closed, breathing heavy. Once she screamed and Jeb stroked her hair and shushed her, gentle, loving as he could manage. Loving. Caring. This was the façade he had to put on for two years, before the vital part of the experiment was carried through. He had to make these children feel safe.

It took half a bottle of shampoo to get her hair clean and free of grease. When he felt that she was clean enough, Jeb took a fresh towel and bid her climb out. As he dried her light brown curls, she opened her mouth as if to say something. Jeb stopped and looked her in the eye. "Yes, Maximum? Did you want to say something?"

The scrawny ten-year-old looked away. Jeb sighed, dejected, and returned to drying her off. At last he pulled out a crisp white nightgown and held it out to her. "It's for you."

She only stared at it.

"Do you know what it is, Maximum? This is a nightgown. You wear it at night when you sleep. It's very nice. Here, I'll help you put it on."

Jeb guided the child, showing her how to step into the nightgown and slip her arms through the armholes. He fastened the buttons at the back and mussed her curls. She stared at him, as if wondering if there was more to come.

"Now, why don't you go and … have a look around the house?" Jeb offered. "I'm going to give the rest of the … children a bath, too, okay?" When she only stared at him blankly, he rested a hand on her shoulder. "Did you like your bath?" he encouraged her.

Maximum looked at him sadly, before bowing her head and slipping out of the bathroom. The moment she stepped out of the corridor, Nudge was upon her. The small seven-year-old gripped Max's arms tightly, her chocolate brown eyes full of terror. "Did it hurt, Max?" she whispered.

"No," Max said softly. "He didn't do anything bad."

Nudge fell back, comforted by this thought. "Good," she murmured. "That's good. I don't want him to hurt us."

"You bite him if he tries to do anything to you, okay?" Max said with a smile.

Nudge nodded. "Okay. I can do that."

Max smiled shakily before continuing down the hall. She wanted to stay with her Flock, but the Maybe Nice Whitecoat – she forgot what his name was – had told her to look around the house, and so that was what she planned to do. Somewhere, deep inside, Max was expecting, waiting for pain. And she understood that, if she didn't do as she was told, the pain would hurt even worse. She wanted to spit in the face of the Whitecoats. She wanted to do bad things to them, wanted to zap _them_ with electrical cuffs, burn their skin with hot metal sticks, do everything she could to make them bleed. But, strong though she was, she was so starved that she never could fight. And there were always so many of them. They were bigger than she was. And then there were the Bad Wolf Men.

Max stopped when she saw another girl standing before her. The girl looked a bit like her, but clean, and prettier. Max took a step towards the girl, and the girl copied her movement. "Hello," Max whispered, and the girl's lips moved, forming the same word exactly as Max did, only she made no sound. When Max waved, so did the other girl. Another step. The girl copied.

Another – Max took a step back as she ran into something cool and glass-like. She winced and rubbed her nose – the girl did too. Max cocked her head. The girl did too. And that was when Max realized, it was some kind of reflective surface. She'd seen a few things like that, back in the School. Nothing as big as that, though.

Half-fascinated, Max continued on.

She went through the rooms. There were so many strange things. She found an odd, black box-like thing in one room and something that reminded her of a table in another, only it wasn't cold and made of metal and it wasn't stained in blood. There wasn't even the _smell_ of blood.

That was the strangest thing about the house. The smell. There had only been bad smells back at the School. Urine, antiseptic, and the worst one of all, blood. It always smelled like blood back there. But here, in this bizarre house, there were nice smells. She didn't know what those smells were, but she decided she liked them.

When she finished exploring the house, she didn't know what else to do, so she returned to the place outside the – what was it the Maybe Nice Whitecoat had called it? Lashroom? – where the rest of her Flock was.

Fang wasn't there anymore. She imagined he was with that Maybe Nice Whitecoat, having a bath. Iggy was sleeping, his arm around the Gasman's shoulders. The four-year-old was just nodding off himself. Two-year-old Angel slept as well, leaning against Nudge's shoulders.

After Fang emerged, looking very different with his dark hair fluffy and his face clean, the Maybe Nice Whitecoat whose name, he reminded them, was Jeb, told them they could go into the living room. He took them all to the room where Max had found the black box. He pressed something on the box. At once, images popped up. But they _moved_, and there was sound. It was like a little window, but loud. Jeb told them this was called _tee-vee_, and that they could watch it. He told them that it would tell them a nice story if they watched and listened. And then he pressed another button, and the images changed. As Iggy had his bath, Max watched as a brown talking dog and a few humans went around in a van that looked like Jeb's, only it was green and it had pictures of flowers on it. Max was confused by most of it, but she liked watching. The dog's voice, and the voice of the human boy in the green shirt, made her giggle.

About an hour and a half later, Jeb showed each through the house. "I've set up the bedrooms with mattresses. Sometime I'll take you all to the city and you can pick out some nice bed frames. But in the meanwhile…well, there are only five rooms. Some of you will have to share."

He waited as the children stared up at him. At last, the dark-skinned one, Subject Eight – Nudge, she called herself – spoke up. "Um…I-I could share. I don't mind," she stammered. Rocking back and forth on her heels, she looked up at Jeb nervously.

Jeb smiled broadly at her. "All right! Now, do you want to share with Max or Angel?"

Nudge looked nervously between the two girls. "I…um…I…" She bit her lip. At last she let out a meek, "Angel? I mean, I can look after her. I won't let her get hurt, I promise." She looked to the Gasman, Angel's biological brother. "I'll keep her safe."

Angel, who was sleepily rubbing her eyes and leaning on her brother's shoulder, shrugged.

The Gasman drew her in close, then looked Nudge in the eye and nodded slightly. He let go of Angel, and the toddler approached her.

"Okay," Jeb said with a smile. "Go on ahead, girls. Pick a room."

The process was similar with the rest of the children – when he asked them, "Do you want this room?" they would give little nods, their eyes wide and fearful. They would stammer. At last, he got each one of them a bedroom. Each one he allowed to lie down on the mattresses, and each one he covered in warm blankets; it was wintertime and even the heater did little good.

After the lights were out in all the rooms, Jeb rose and made himself a cup of tea. He knew he wouldn't get much sleep tonight; for he had some important matters to attend to. First, he had to study the files of the six children.

In his study, he sat back and began to thumb through the first file – Subject Eleven. This was the number assigned to the two-year-old female who called herself Angel. Jeb smiled at that thought. The name suited her. A sweet, if drastically underfed, little girl with her long blonde hair and wide blue eyes. The embodiment of innocence.

Her file was one of the longest. While she was the youngest subject, she was also one of the most important and the most successful. Most of them had failed in one way or another, hadn't turned out the way they were supposed to. Subject Eleven – Angel – was the only one who held any hope of reaching the desired goals of the scientists.

A shadow fell over the light and Jeb spun. There, in the doorway, he saw Maximum. His daughter. She hovered uncertainly, rocking back and forth on her heels.

Jeb snapped the file shut, hurriedly shoved it to the back of his desk. "Hello, Maximum. Is something wrong?"

"I couldn't sleep."

It was the first time she'd spoken since leaving the lab.

"You couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head.

Jeb offered his hand. She stared at it, not comprehending. Then she spoke again, her young voice no more than a whisper. "I was having scary dreams."

"Well, then, we'll just have to chase the scary dreams away. Here, take my hand. Let's go to the kitchen."

The child did as she was told and allowed Jeb to lead her into the kitchen, but she still trembled. Two turns in the hall and Jeb scooped her up, seating her on the counter. He began to rummage through the cupboards.

"The kitchen is where you keep the food?" she asked softly.

"Yes, that's it. And where we prepare the food, and where we eat it."

Those brown eyes, so very much like Valencia's, dared to show a flicker of hope. "Will we be having food right now?"

"No. Not this late. But we'll have something nice to drink."

"Water?"

"Better than water." Jeb found what he was looking for. A packet of powdered hot chocolate. Retrieving two mugs, he ripped open the packet and poured the substance into each mug.

Max cocked her head to one side as Jeb shuffled through the cupboards. He took a little package and two cups – she'd never drunken out of a cup before but she'd seen the Whitecoats do it – and watched, half-curious, half-frightened, as he poured something powdery and brown into the mugs. He took some water from the tap and poured it into a pot. Placed the pot on something round. Fiddled with a few buttons. At last he sat back and waited.

Max leaned over to touch the pot. The moment her fingers grazed the metal, she felt her fingers burning, a hissing pain that quickly traveled up her hand. She drew her hand away just as Jeb leapt to his feet.

"Don't touch that, Maximum. It's dangerous. Don't ever touch that, do you understand?"

Max nodded. Jeb asked to see her hand and she held it out. He didn't touch the burn. He only nodded and let go, saying she'd be all right, turning on the tap, directing her to hold her hand under the stream of water for a little bit. She did as she was told, and was surprised to find her hand felt a little better. When at last she pulled her hand away, Jeb was holding out one of the mugs. "For you. Don't drink it right away, it's hot."

Max took the blue mug and peered into it. It was filled with a strange, thick brown liquid. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

"It's called hot chocolate. You'll like it. It's good."

Max took a hesitant sip, and even though it burned her lips, she couldn't help but let loose a small gasp of delight. The drink was thick, and sweet, with a hint of bitterness. The best thing she'd ever tasted.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah." Then, "Jeb?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you doing this for us?" Max looked up at him. "Why did you take us away?"

Jeb took a long sip from his hot chocolate before answering. "Well. I was not involved with your … experiment very much. But I understood that the people who were involved had been doing bad things to you. Things that hurt. Is that right?"

A slow nod. "But _why_?"

Jeb considered his words before answering. "Because I wanted to stop the hurting. Because I wanted to help you. And so I got you all out. It's safe here. They won't find you."

Maximum turned her attention back to her hot chocolate. "Took you long enough."

Jeb chuckled. "Yes, Maximum. And I'm so, so sorry."


	2. Breakfast

Chapter Two: Breakfast

_Many thanks to supersexyghotmew95 for offering a few suggestions for this chapter. That is, Angel and Jeb's shoe.  
_

Jeb had not noticed the child standing behind him, but there she was. The ten-year-old boy, Fang. The child was simply standing there, directly behind him. He was still wearing his pajamas – of course he was, he didn't know where the clothes were, and even if he did he wouldn't know how to put them on.

"Good morning," Jeb said at last, nodding and smiling.

The boy stayed where he stood, staring at Jeb until at last he sat down on the floor and begin to pick at his toenails. Jeb took a steady breath and turned to the kitchen. He had not been fully aware of how often the subjects were fed – that wasn't part of his department – but he knew it wasn't very often. Perhaps a bite or two of food once a week. Most creatures would starve with so little food. And to be frank, most subjects did. But while the subjects of the Avian Experiment needed more calories than humans did, they could also last longer without food. This was evident, else the eldest would not have reached the age of ten.

And since they hadn't eaten very often, and most certainly never anything nice, Jeb decided to make pancakes. Pancakes. He'd liked them as a boy. Why, he _still_ liked them. And so he pulled out the flour and the eggs and began to prepare the breakfast.

He was aware of the other children approaching. Maximum joined Fang and out of the corner of her eye, he saw that she was using her teeth to tear at her fingernails. In a flash, he was there at her side. "Stop that please, Maximum. Don't do that, honey."

Her hand dropped and she stared up at him with wide brown eyes. Jeb took a deep breath and held out his palm. "Let me see your hands, okay?"

She showed them to him, holding them out, but when he reached for her, she screamed and backed away until at last he had to reassure her that she was safe. No one was going to hurt her now, _he_ wasn't going to hurt her, until at last she held her hands up, and this time he didn't try to hold them.

He realized she must have been tearing at her nails for longer than when she'd been sitting there. She'd been tearing not just at the nails, but at the flesh, and she had made herself bleed. One nail, the one on her thumb, had been torn down to a bloody pulp.

"Why did you do that, Maximum? Doesn't it hurt?" he asked gently.

She shrugged, and to his surprise, she spoke. He'd been surprised when she'd spoken the night before, but he hadn't expected her to do it again.

"I've hurt worse," she said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "I've hurt worse."

Jeb was tempted to pull her into a hug and tell her everything right now, what a destiny she had and how important she was, how all her suffering had been for the greater good, and for goodness sake, that she was his daughter.

Instead he nodded and smiled, taking a lock of her light brown hair and stroking it gently. She stiffened under his touch, but this time she did not pull away. Fang had stopped poking his toenails and was now gaping at Maximum with a look of utter bewilderment on his young face.

Jeb reached for him too – he knew he mustn't show any favoritism – but the boy pulled away and scuttled to the other end of the room, where he crawled under the sofa and curled into a ball. Maximum got to her feet and raced after him. She was murmuring something, but her voice was so small Jeb couldn't hear her. He returned to the pancakes.

The other children filed in one by one as he cooked. First came the two-year-old female, Angel, and then her older brother. The seven-year-old came next. Nudge. The last child to arrive was the blind one, Iggy.

Jeb hadn't the faintest idea how he'd managed to maneuver his way into this room. He'd given the boy the bedroom closest to the kitchen, but even so there was a short walk down the corridor.

He greeted him, however, like he had the other children. "Good morning."

The nine-year-old stood awkwardly in the doorway. He turned to face in Jeb's general direction and blinked in confusion. He seemed so lost, and Jeb wasn't sure what to do – help him over to the sofa? – but then Maximum got to her feet and took his hand, leading him over to where the other children. "This way, Ig," he heard her say.

Max leaned back against the thing Jeb had called a sofa. She'd seen sofas a few times before, in the School. This one was no different, but it didn't smell bad. She was still trying to get used to things smelling nice.

But just because things had been going nicely didn't mean they always would. In Max's young life, only bad things happened. Everything she knew came out of instinct. Like screaming. When the Whitecoats did the hurting things to her, she would scream and scream in the hopes that if she did it enough the hurting would stop. She knew pain and that was it. Her earliest memories consisted of blood and broken wings and electricity zapping through her and sharp needles and pain pain pain pain pain pain pain….

Max gasped and closed her eyes tightly. Her wing was burning again, where one of the Whitecoats had started to forcefully pluck her feathers. And when she looked at her feet again, she could still see the scarring from the metal cuff she'd worn around her ankle. The skin was still so raw and red, it was hard to believe the marks would ever fade away completely. The burn marks on her back still hurt too. And her insides felt funny. She'd been forced to drink a putrid blue liquid that had made her sick.

She was, of course, not aware of it. But the Whitecoats had, upon forcing her to drink that liquid, recorded in Subject One of Avian Experiment's file, that the formula had nearly shut down her kidneys. Both of them. And for a long time, Max had huddled in her cage, too weak to do anything while the members of the Flock looked on in fear.

Suddenly she heard Jeb calling, "Kids! Breakfast is ready!"

She stood up and cocked her head to one side. She wanted ask the man, Jeb, what breakfast was, but then she saw him putting things on plates. They were flat, brown, and circular, and covered in a golden-brown sauce. And they smelled nice, so nice, just like everything else in the house.

"It's food," Jeb explained at last, gently and slowly.

"Food," Max repeated. "Food." And then it dawned on her, that the food was for them, for _her_, and she was running to the table. She took a seat and tried to suppress her bounces of excitement.

The other children tore forwards too. Food, after all! One of them, Nudge, gave a cry of joy as she sat down and stared at the odd patty in front of her. Even Iggy maneuvered his way over, somewhat cautiously, following the sounds the others were making.

"H - How much are we allowed to have?" Nudge asked. She looked up at Jeb hopefully. "There's so much of it. How many bites do we get?"

Jeb chuckled and reached out to pat her hand. "Oh, Nudge. You get to eat all of it."

The seven-year-old's jaw dropped slightly. "I get to eat _all_ of it?"

"All of it. Or as much as you want."

Nudge was having trouble comprehending. In the miserable years of her short life, this was roughly the amount of food she received every month or two. Right here, in front of her, two month's worth of food. And she was allowed to eat it, eat all of it, right now. Everyone else was having the same amount too. This, perhaps, was something a bit too big for her to get around. And so she said all she could manage.

"Oh. Oh, thank you. Thank you. I'll be good, I promise." Then, in fear that she was being a bit too forward, "C-can I eat it _now_?"

Jeb laughed. "Yes. Yes, of course. You can eat it now, all of it now. We won't bother learning how to use cutlery yet. I'll teach you tomorrow. Just eat it with your hands now." He set down his own fork and knife. "You can all eat it now. You must be hungry."

He watched, bemused, as each child grabbed a pancake and shoved it into their mouths. They ate greedily and quickly, with shoulder hunched and eyes darting from side to side in fear. It was almost as though they expected to have the food taken away at any moment.

And when at last they were finished, all six sat there, looking somewhat frozen and terrified. And above all, _confused_. They had never had so much food in their stomachs at one time. The sensation must be very strange.

The Gasman was the first to throw up. Being barely four years old meant the Whitecoats hadn't seen it necessary to feed him as often as the older subjects. That, combined with his digestive problems, led to his being the first to turn green rather suddenly and spew out the entire pancake he had just eaten all over the table. There wasn't much in the vomit – after all, before today he hadn't had a bite to eat in nearly a fortnight – but mixed with water, it smelled foul all the same.

Breathing hard, the Gasman looked up, still rather peaky. "I'm sorry," the four-year-old squeaked. "I'm sorry, I won't d-do it again." He was stammering.

Jeb reached out and patted him on the shoulder. The young boy stiffened slightly but didn't pull away. "It's all right," Jeb assured him. "I'll deal with it." He offered his hand. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

By the time he returned with a now clean Gasman, the others had all thrown up too.

**0o0**

After Jeb had cleaned them up, Max had silently gathered the rest of the Flock and led them to her - what was it Jeb had called it? Bedroom? – where they gathered in conference. She sat on the edge of the mattress, with Fang seated next to her and Angel in her lap. Nudge, Gazzy, and Iggy situated themselves on the floor.

Max's first thoughts were how strange she felt. The nightgown had been an odd sensation on her skin, so different from the baggy old pillowcases she was used to. But this was something entirely different. After he'd cleaned the vomit from her face, hair, and nightgown, Jeb gave her _new_ clothes. But not new as this.

The clothes were very odd. There was something that reminded her of the nightdress, but it only went down to her knees and was pink. Jeb had pulled a dark blue jumper over the short nightdress and combed her untamable mass of light brown locks. It was little things like this that made it too much to grasp.

"So," she said after a long pause. "We're here."

"We're not in a bad place," agreed Nudge. "This is a good place. I mean, there aren't any Whitecoats here, or Bad Wolf Men. And it smells nice."

"Nice smells!" Angel echoed.

Max managed a smile and ruffled the toddler's hair. "Yeah, I know. But what about … _him_?" She didn't need to say anything more.

"I don't know," said Iggy quietly. "He doesn't hurt us."

"He might," Max argued. "He might hurt us. Everyone always does eventually. Somebody goes and does bad things to us. Hurting things."

"Do we go?" asked the Gasman. He looked up at his guardian, Max, one of the few beings he wasn't afraid of, that he loved. "Or stay?"

Max glanced over her shoulder, towards the door. Maybe Jeb was listening at the door. She didn't know what Whitecoats did when they weren't doing hurting things. She never did know. In the few, short, miserable ten years of her life, they had always been there. At last she leaned forwards and whispered, "I don't know. Stay for now, I think. 'Cause I don't know where else we're supposed to go."

"Cold out," Angel announced. "Don't like cold." She promptly picked up one of Jeb's shoes and shoved it into her mouth.

"Yeah," Max agreed. "It's cold out – Angel, get that shoe out of your mouth, honeypie." She freed the shoe from the two-year-old's grasp and dropped it on the floor, where it sat already covered in slobber.

"Want the shoe," Angel insisted. She reached for it again, but Max took her hands and gently pulled them down.

"No, no, sweetie. Shoes aren't good to eat."

"Hungry," the two-year-old whimpered. She reached for Max again and buried her little nose in her mother figure's chest. "Hungry," she said again. She began to sob, wailing the same word over and over. "Hungry, hungry, _hungry_!"

Max patted her hair. "It's okay. Okay. I'll go get food." She wriggled free of Angel and made for the door. "Wait here," she instructed the others. "Wait."

She slipped outside and silently shut the door behind her. The scrawny ten-year-old darted down the corridor, her bare feet slapping silently against the wooden floors. She remembered where the kitchen was, and had a vague recollection of Jeb opening the doors of a giant, cold white box. There had been food in there.

A quick look around proved that Jeb wasn't there. And before her was the big white box. She pulled open one of the doors, gasping as she received a blast of cold air. But no matter, right now she had to get food for Angel.

Max skimmed the contents of the big white box. There were all sorts of things, including a few apples. She'd had apples, on a few rare occasions. They'd long since rotted and gone brown, mind you, but they had still been apples.

She counted out five apples and stuffed them up her skirt. Only five.

_Well, I'll just give them to the others._ _I can go hungry a little longer._

She closed the door to the big white box, turned, and did a double take. Jeb was standing there, tapping away at an odd contraption. He looked up when he heard her gasp of fear.

"Maximum."

Max took a step back and tripped, dropping the apples. They fell with solid _klunks_ and rolled about the tiled floor of the kitchen. The ten-year-old stayed where she had fallen, staring up at Jeb in horrified terror.

He stood and she knew it was going to come now. She hadn't been good and now he was going to do hurting things to her. Tear at her feathers or electrocute her, burn her. Whatever it was, he was going to –

So long as he didn't hurt the others. If they were okay, then she would be too. Just so long as he didn't do hurting things the others. It wouldn't be so bad then.

"Are you hungry, Maximum?"

She couldn't bear to look him in the eye, so she kept her eyes fixed on the ground as she nodded.

"I'm not surprised. That's okay, sweetie."

"You can have your apples back," she whispered. "Just don't hurt 'em. Don't do hurting things to them. To me, you can do whatever you want."

He came closer and she closed her eyes tightly. Any second now. She felt his fingers touch her face and instinctively she flinched. But he wasn't hurting her, or at least not yet. He was stroking her cheek, sort of like Max did to Angel sometimes.

It felt kind of nice. It felt like love.

"That's okay, Max, of course it is. I won't hurt you, all right? I'm going to keep you safe."

She dared to look up. And in his eyes she saw tenderness. Not fire, just tender care. Concern.

"We were hungry," she whispered at last. "'Cause we threw up what you gave us."

Jeb smiled. "I know. So take the apples. I'm glad you did that. This is your home now, okay? I promise. And you can help yourself to the food in the fridge whenever you want to."

Max wanted to ask what the fridge was, but then she realized it must be what the big white box was called. Fridge. And so she picked up the apples, and hurried down the hall.

He was being nice. Of course he was. But she couldn't afford to trust him. She couldn't trust anybody.


	3. City

**Those Little Moments**

Chapter Three … City

**OOO**

Two weeks went by. Those two were some of the hardest of Jeb's life. Every day was the same – trying to hold the children in his arms. Whispering to and soothing them. And they were all terrified. The last time he'd tried to put an arm around Angel, she's burst into tears and screamed until Maximum came running for her and the two-year-old sobbed into her mother figure's shoulder for half an hour afterwards.

Many times he found some of the other children huddled on their mattresses, sobbing. They were still so terrified of him.

However, two weeks after taking them from the lab in Death Valley, Jeb knew he had to do something. Progress was nonexistent, besides the fact that all but the ten-year-old male spoke more than once.

But the ten-year-old male, Fang, had not uttered a single word in two weeks. When Jeb asked him if he was cold, hungry, tired, afraid – all he received as a reply was a blank stare from behind onyx eyes.

Sometimes he would catch Fang staring at him. Without hatred or fear. No emotion whatsoever. Simply…blankness. Emptiness. It haunted Jeb, that stare. In a way it reminded him of the empty, sightless gaze of the nine-year-old male, Iggy. But Fang was not blind. He had the sharpest eyesight of the six subjects, as a matter of fact. According to the tests.

"Fang? Are you okay? What's the matter?" he would ask.

The young boy would keep his gaze level for the longest time before finally climbing to his feet and leaving the room. And that was it.

In the first three days, whatever Jeb fed the children, they vomited straight back up. Only liquids passed through their digestive systems. And in a strange way Jeb couldn't help but feel almost sorry for them. A waver of pity.

Angel was the easiest to feel sorry for. After all, she was barely two years old. Jeb had not been aware of this, but according to the records, her second birthday had come only nine days before her being taken from the lab and here to Colorado.

And then there was Maximum. Oh, Maximum. His daughter. His child. His success. He often found himself staring at the underfed little girl – after all, she was his _daughter_. She had his light brown hair, and his nose, but she had her mother's curls and eyes.

Brown as chocolates.

But after two weeks, Jeb realized that this experiment was going nowhere. The hidden cameras located in the walls were always running, and the footage was sent live back to the live. But they weren't capturing very much and now was Jeb's time to change that.

Right. Well. Yes. First things first. It was high time the children had beds to sleep in. Proper beds. With frames and headboards.

In the morning, after a hesitant breakfast of French toast, that Jeb announced, "Kids. You know, I think I should probably get you some beds, _hmm_? And some coats and shoes. It must get awfully cold."

"You have shoes for _us_?" Nudge whispered, her eyes wide. "We can have actual shoes like yours?"

Jeb chuckled. "Well. Yes. Of course, Nudge. But any shoes you like. Now, are you finished your breakfast?"

Nudge would have liked more breakfast, something more to eat, but she didn't want to push her limits. She nodded and stood. "I'll get dressed."

Jeb smiled. "Good girl. You do that. And help Angel too, okay?"

The two-year-old had stopped eating after only half a piece of French toast. From there, the small girl had taken a hasty retreat to the bedroom she shared with Nudge.

Nudge gave another nod before taking off in the direction of her bedroom. Jeb mentally noted that, of the six children, she had progressed the most in adjusting to her new environment.

"What do the rest of you say?" Jeb encouraged. "Do you all want beds?"

The others gave nods in varying degrees of enthusiasm. At last, Jeb gathered their dishes and carried them to the sink. He turned on the water, turned back to the children. "Why don't you all go and get dressed?"

Four chairs scraped as the remaining children went their separate ways to their bedrooms. Jeb scrubbed at the dishes, waiting to hear the patter of little feet hurrying back to him. When he turned, however, he saw the nine-year-old male – Iggy – standing awkwardly behind his chair.

"Iggy," Jeb exclaimed. "What's the matter? Why aren't you getting dressed?"

The scrawny young boy took a frightened step backwards before whispering, "I'm listening to you wash the dishes."

Jeb shook his head. "Listening to me wash the dishes?"

Iggy raised his head, and in those sightless eyes Jeb saw a twinkle of excitement. "Um…the food we've been eating. Where do you get it?"

"Well. I make it."

"You make it?" the child echoed. "You can _make_ food?"

"Yes, of course."

Again, Iggy bowed his head. It seemed to take him a while to sum up the courage until he managed a small, "Could you … could you teach _me_? Or do you have to be able to see to do that kind of thing?"

Jeb pulled up a chair and sat down. "I'm not sure. I imagine you could do it. It just might be a bit difficult – "

"I want to try," the nine-year-old said softly. "I want to try and learn. I want to know how to make food. That way I don't need to be hungry all the time."

"You don't need to worry about being hungry. I'll always be here to give you food."

"But what happens if the food goes away?"

"It won't go away. I promise you that."

"Okay." Iggy shuffled from foot to foot. At last he came up with a somewhat shaky smile. "Okay. Thank you."

And then he turned, back down the corridor and into his bedroom. It was one of the miraculous things that had struck Jeb after about three days. The blind child had somehow succeeded in memorizing the entire layout of the house. Every room, turn, placement of furniture. As though he had mapped out the entire house in his head.

Of course, it had gone directly to the files.

A few minutes later all of the other children had emerged. Fang had thrown on an oversized black tracksuit, and it dwarfed him to the point that he looked even younger than his ten years.

Nudge appeared in a bright pink skirt and white sweater. The small seven-year-old had a sleeping Angel at her hip, dressed in a pair of pale pink coveralls and a green T-shirt. It was clear that, despite Angel's light weight, Nudge was having trouble carrying her.

"Here, Nudge. Let me take her – "

"No." Nudge pulled away. "Please no. I'll carry her. I can do it."

Angel blinked open wide, cherubic blue eyes and squirmed. "I'll walk."

Gently, Nudge lowered the little blonde toddler onto the ground and looked up at Jeb with wide eyes.

Maximum was the last to come from her bedroom, clad in a pair of brown capris pants and a light pink T-shirt with an enormous butterfly on the front of it. Jeb knew most ten-year-old girls would be mortified to go about dressed like that, but Maximum was so small for her age it was all that would fit her.

"So we're going to go to the city," Jeb spoke gently. "And we're going to take my car. Do you remember what a car is?"

"It's that thing you used to get us here," Nudge offered timidly. "Right?"

"Yes, that's right. Very good, Nudge."

Jeb offered to carry the children one by one to his car. After all, they still had no shoes and the ground was covered in snow. Their feet would freeze. But each child turned his offer. Despite the cold, they marched through the snow in bare feet and huddled together in the backseat.

The drive to Denver was silent. Jeb didn't try to speak to the children, and they didn't try to speak to him. Every so often, Nudge would start to say something, only to be shushed gently by Maximum.

He pulled into the car park, then opened the door. "Here we are, kids. Let's get you some nice bed frames." A nod towards the snow-covered ground. "The snow is pretty cold, and you don't have shoes. Are you sure you don't want me to carry you in?"

"In where?" Nudge asked softly.

"Into the store. That's where we'll be getting the bed frames."

"What's a _store_?"

"It's a place where people sell things."

Maximum climbed out of the van, then gathered little Angel in her arms. She stared at Jeb for a long time before going to stand by the boot of the car. Fang emerged as well, the Iggy, the Gasman in his arms. The blind child hovered awkwardly until Fang reached out with one arm and gently steered him in the right direction. This was their way of saying that no, they most certainly did not want to be carried.

Only Nudge stayed in the van, hugging her knees, wide brown eyes flickering from Jeb to her family, whom she thought of as the Flock. Back again.

"Nudge?" Jeb prompted gently. "Do you want me to carry you?"

The seven-year-old's lower lip began to tremble. "I…I…"

Jeb offered his hand. "Nudge?"

Eyes flickering over to the Flock, then back to Jeb. "Well. I mean…I…" Her shoulders began to shake. And to Jeb's surprise, the girl burst into tears. Her tiny frame shook with sobs until Jeb hesitantly reached out to her.

"Don't touch me," she pleaded. "Please don't touch me."

"It's all right, Nudge. I'm only going to carry you so you won't be cold. Is that okay?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I just don't _know_."

Jeb reached out to her again. She stared at his hand a long time before taking it. Jeb lifted the shivering, teary-eyed little girl onto his back and she wrapped her arms around his neck, stiffening slightly. Braced for pain. For something to come out and hurt her.

Jeb plastered a smile onto his face and nodded to the other children. "All right. Now, follow me and we'll go to the store."

With Nudge on his back and the other children at his heels, the unlikely little party trooped into a Wal-Mart. Jeb made sure to hurry to the clothing department. There, he had shoes fitted to each child.

Max sat perfectly still as a clerk who called himself "Earl" measured her feet. She didn't like him touching her. It made her think of the Whitecoats – but she didn't want him to hurt her. And so she sat still.

After what felt to Max like an eternity, Earl got up and began shuffling through several boxes. He smiled up at her in his shuffling, and Max tensed. The alarms in her head blared to life. _He's going to hurt me now. He's going to look and poke at my wings and scribble things down and it'll hurt, hurt so much…_

For now, he was only asking her questions. "What's your name, honeypie?"

Heart pounding. Sweat pooling on her brow. Glance up at Jeb. See that smile, that gentle encouraging smile that always seems to be there. "Um. Max."

"Max. What a nice name."

Close eyes. Block it all out. Brace yourself. "Thank you."

"How old are you, Max?" Earl asked gently.

"Ten…" Max whispered. She opened her eyes and gripped the hem of her shirt tightly.

Earl smiled at her and showed her a box with shoes inside of it. "Well, Max. Do you likes these shoes?"

Max barely glanced at the shoes before she found herself nodding vigorously. She knew that she had to do whatever Earl said for her to do. Then maybe when he hurt her, it wouldn't be so bad.

But Earl only slipped the shoes onto her feet and let her go. Max watched tensely as the clerk fitted shoes onto the feet of everybody else in her Flock. Fang, Iggy, Nudge, the Gasman. Angel.

Maybe he wasn't planning on hurting her. Maybe he was going to hurt one of the others. Images flashed through her mind. Fang huddled on the floor of his cage with a broken wing. The Gasman curled up in a ball, pale and sickly. Nudge crying. Iggy, the day after they made him blind. His empty stare and his hair still crusted in dried blood. And Angel. Just Angel screaming, one never-ending, wailing shriek.

She waited, expecting that Earl to do something to hurt one of them. But he didn't. But Max would always be waiting. Because someday, someone would come. Come and shatter her peace. And that someone would hurt her.

It was only a matter of time.


	4. Snowplay

**Those Little Moments**

Chapter Four…Snowplay

**OOO**

Jeb sensed their fear. It was a powerful, choking, feeling that hung in the air, stale. And it was his … duty to free the children of that fear. Something he had to do, needed to do.

The children were huddled together like waifs, new shoes pinching little toes, six pairs of eyes looking up at him. Expectantly, hopefully.

"Well, then. What do you think of your new shoes?" Jeb asked them perkily.

A long pause, then Nudge said, "They're really nice. I like my shoes a lot. Thank you, Jeb." The seven-year-old spoke timidly, but it was an improvement after hardly speaking at all. Jeb reached out to ruffle her hair. He expected her to flinch, stiffen, duck away with a shriek. To his surprise, she allowed him to muss her curls and she looked up at him with wide, almost _trusting_ brown eyes.

Jeb heart was beating out a maddeningly quick rhythm of excitement, but he only chuckled and took her hand. "Right. Why don't we get you some bed frames?"

"Are we really allowed to?" Nudge breathed. "Proper beds?"

"Of course, Nudge." Jeb lifted her onto his shoulders, and the seven-year-old smiled. Maximum was glaring daggers at him, and he set the young dark-skinned girl down again.

Maximum drew Nudge closer to her, her narrowed eyes never leaving Jeb's face for a fraction of a second, until at last she relaxed. "Okay. Where do we get the bed frames?"

Jeb pointed. "Over there. Do you see that…sign over there? Hanging from the ceiling?"

Maximum followed his finger. She cocked her head to one side, contemplating the sign. After a long while she gave a quick nod before ducking her head. Afraid to say or do anything more.

Jeb bent down to her level. "Do you see the funny-looking symbols all over it?"

Another quick nod. He noticed she was trembling again. She wanted so desperatenly to please him, please him so no other hurt or pain would come along.

"Well. Those are called letters. And letters make words – and the word on that sign is _furniture_. That's where we'll find the bed frames."

Maximum nodded again, averting her eyes.

Jeb led the children to the furniture section. The unlikely group wove through aisles of fancy, modern stoves, brightly colored shag carpets, shower curtains. Sofas. It seemed that the hoards of furniture went on forever, and by now two-year-old Angel had fallen asleep with a shoe in her mouth. The cherubic little toddler was sprawled across Maximum's back, her head resting against her mother figure's shoulder.

"These are bed frames," Jeb explained, waving to a sturdy metal frame. "All of these. And you can pick any one you'd like."

Nudge's eyes widened. "Any one?" she breathed in awe.

"Of course. Now, go on. Wander around, pick any frame you'd like. I'll be waiting here. When you find one you like, come get me and we'll take it home with us." Jeb knew he _should_ go with the children, but he feared that they wouldn't really choose a frame they liked. They were so afraid of him.

Like marbles, they scattered. Maximum went off with Iggy and a sleeping Angel. Fang, Nudge, and the Gasman scurried in the other direction.

The moment Max was several bed frames away from Jeb, she relaxed. Letting out a whooshing breath, she handed Angel to Iggy and sank down to the floor. Iggy sat down next to her, placing Angel in his lap. The little toddler was cooing contentedly, shoe still gripped in her tiny fist.

"I don't like it here," Iggy whispered to Max. "There are too many sounds all around me. It's scary," he added matter-of-factly.

Max nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her doing it. "Me too. I don't like it here, too. There are so many people everywhere. I keep wondering when one of 'em is going to hurt us."

Iggy shuddered. "Yeah. Right. Are any of them Whitecoats?"

"Not that I can tell. But maybe they're just pretending. Come on. Let's look around." Max stood and held out her hand. "Here, Ig. Take my hand."

Iggy groped for it, until Max took a firm hold of his hand and yanked him to his feet. The trio made their way through the store, not knowing where they were going, just wandering about.

Max kept her eyes on the ground. She didn't want to be seen. She figured that somewhere out there, the Whitecoats must be looking for her. They must be looking to get her back. It had been such a long time since she'd seen one, and if she ran into a Whitecoat now, she was sure they must want to do something worse than ever to Iggy and Angel.

She wasn't looking at all where she was going, and all of a sudden she ran headfirst into a store clerk. Max screamed and leapt back, bumping into Iggy. The nine-year-old tripped over his own feet and fell backwards on top of Angel, who woke instantly and began to bawl.

Iggy scrambled to his feet and pulled Angel close. He ran his fingers through her hair, shushing her gently and bouncing her onto his knee. Max, meanwhile, stayed where she was. Her feet rooted to the tiled floors of the place Jeb had called "Wal-Mart," she stared up at the clerk in absolute horror.

White coat. The woman before her was wearing a white coat. She was smiling a friendly smile, the kind Max was sure was not Whitecoats were not capable of, but apparently she had been wrong. Because here was a woman who was surely planning on hurting her.

She began to breathe heavily. It came in raw, shallow gasps and she screwed her eyes shut tight, muscles tense, braced for pain and hurt and sharp needles and angry words and confusing words she didn't understand but still scared her and the feeling of tools poking at her and the door of a cage slamming shut and pain and hurt pain hurt pain hurt pain hurt pain hurt…

"Are you okay, sweetie?" the clerk asked gently. The three children she'd run into were in a sorry state. The girl, a scrawny creature no older than eight with light brown curls and wide brown eyes, looked to be absolutely petrified. The boy, who seemed to be roughly her age with strawberry blond hair, sat on the floor, calming the toddler he'd been carrying.

The older girl let out a whimper and she took a step back. Her arms flew up to shield her face as the clerk reached for her.

"Sweetie, it's okay. Are you all right? Do you need help finding your mom or dad?"

The girl cracked open one eye. Then the other. Still trembling, she shook her head and squeaked out, "I'm looking for bed frames. For me and my brother and sister."

"Well, you're in the right place." The clerk said brightly. "Do you need help?"

The young girl shook her head before helping the red-haired boy to her feet and taking off the way she'd come. The clerk stared after her. _Such strange children_, the woman thought. _Almost like they've been abused_. And then she turned back to the bars of soap she was stocking on a shelf and thought nothing more of it.

"I think Jeb wants us to pick bed frames," Iggy pointed out to Max.

Max turned to him. "Okay. Do you _want_ a bed frame?"

"I don't know. Those mattresses are too soft. But Jeb wants us to pick them out."

Max nodded. "Yeah. Well. I know _I _ want one. Let's choose."

The threesome wandered the aisles. Angel asked to walk again, and Iggy set her down. He took her hand, having to bend down a little, and with Max taking his, they formed a chain of waiflike children wandering a store where they had no place.

Angel, a shoe she'd taken fancy to in her mouth, was the first to find a frame she liked. It was fancier than anything Angel knew, the most beautiful thing she'd seen in her short two years.

It looked like it was made of wood, and it bore tall poles at each corner. The poles were all connected with a sort of bar at the top, and from the bar hung wonderful, lace-covered pink things that looked to Angel like magnificent blankets.

"That, Max!" she insisted, stopping and pointing.

Max stopped, causing Iggy to stumble, and contemplated the bed frame. "Okay," she said at last.

In the next short while, Max found a sturdy-looking metal frame she liked, and when she asked Iggy if he wanted the same thing, he shrugged and nodded in agreement.

Jeb saw Maximum coming towards him, and he reached out to her. The ten-year-old shrank back, scrutinizing him.

"Did you find bed frames you like?" he encouraged her.

She only nodded and pointed to a nearby metal frame. It was plain, but nice. Something he expected a girl like she would choose. "Iggy wants that one too."

"All right." Jeb bent down to Angel's level. "And what do you want, sweetiepie?"

Angel pulled a leather Docker from her mouth and blinked innocently. After a long pause, she pointed to a Victorian style four-posted frame just across from the plain metal one. It didn't seem like anything one might expect to find in a Wal-Mart furniture department. "That."

"That's a really nice frame, sweetiepie," he encouraged. "But take that shoe from your mouth, okay? Let's put it back from…um…wherever you got it."

Angel shook her head before shoving it back into her mouth. She wandered back over to Maximum, who scooped her up and perched the angelic toddler on her shoulders.

Jeb bought the bedframes. Altogether, they cost a fortune, especially when he included the Victorian four-poster frame. But the lab had given him precisely one and a half million to spend on the project per year. Jeb imagined he wouldn't spend half as much even if he tried, but he wasn't really going to complain.

At the cashier's, Jeb ordered a lorry to deliver the new frames to his house. The man behind the counter had to look up the address on Google Maps, and when he located it, he whistled.

"You live a ways away, don't you?"

Jeb smiled. "Yes, well. I guess we do." He chuckled. "So can you do it? If not I can drive a truck home myself."

"We'll be able to make a delivery, Sir, but it'll cost you."

"I'll pay."

The clerk nodded and handed Jeb a receipt. Then he glanced at Angel with a bemused little smile. "Are you buying that shoe, honey?"

Angel shook her head, still chewing. Maximum gently attempted to pry it from her fingers, but the girl screamed and pulled away. "_My_ shoe!"

"You're gonna have to pay for that shoe, Sir," the clerk deadpanned. "We can't sell it anymore."

Jeb had little need for a single leather Docker. And it wasn't even a real Docker anyhow, but a cheap knockoff brand. He kneeled down and tried to pull the shoe from the little girl's grip.

"My shoe!" Angel insisted. She looked up at Jeb with a pout. "Mine."

"You have to buy the shoe, Sir."

"My shoe!"

Jeb thrust a ten dollar bill at the clerk.

"Sir, these shoes cost twenty dollars."

"Well, I'm only buying one of them." Jeb stated matter-of-factly. He leaned over the desk and flashed his ID card. The clerk paled.

"Oh. I-I'm so sorry, Sir. You have my sincerest apologies – "

Jeb smiled. "It's nothing. So, when can I expect the bed frames to come in?"

"We'll send a guy over right now. You should be getting them soon."

**OOO**

A few hours later, Jeb was struggling with the bed frames as he pulled them through the narrow doorway. Maximum, clad in her nightgown, stood like a shadow. Watching him.

Max didn't like the banging noises Jeb was making, not one bit. She didn't know why, but they scared her and every time one came she would jump. It was nighttime already, but she wasn't tired. Though she would have liked to try out her new bed frame. She loved how high up it was. She'd never slept so high up before.

After another several prolonged moments of struggling Jeb muttered, "Crap. Maximum, are you tired?"

Max jumped, startled by the sound of being addressed. She shook her head. Hoped that was the answer he was looking for.

"Is anyone else tired?"

She shook her head again, then said softly, "Angel slept a lot during the day. She isn't tired."

Jeb turned to her and smiled. "What if, while I try to get these blasted beds through the door frame, you and the others play outside?"

Max looked up in surprise. Outside? Jeb had tried to teach her and the others how to "have fun" and "play" indoors but she hated it. The only thing she'd liked doing for the past two weeks that Jeb called "having fun" was watching the big black box. The one called "television." She'd wanted to fly, but had known better than to ask.

Maybe this was some kind of test. He had seemed so keen on keeping her inside. Yes, this had to be an experiment. To see if she'd go outside like she wanted or do as she was told. "It's cold outside," she said levelly.

"Yes, but that's what your coats are for. Do you remember how to put on your coat and hat and gloves?"

Max nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm going to ask you to go find the others. All of you put on your coat, your hat, your gloves, and come back out here."

She took off. Maybe he was going to let her fly. Her wings were just itching to spread, come loose of the stiff fabrics she always wore. She wanted that real bad. She knew how to fly, of course. The Whitecoats had made her do it. In small areas, in big spaces with a tracker attatched to her ankle that zapped her if she flew too far away. With her ankles and wrists bound together. In wind tunnels.

Once, she recalled, a Bad Wolf Man had thrown her, hard, into a wall and her wing had broken. The Bad Wolf Men did that a lot. Throw her and the others. They'd made her try to fly with just one wing, see if she could do it. She hadn't been able to, though. Instead, she'd fallen hard and broken her leg.

Max gathered all the rest of her Flock. They put on their coats and hats and gloves, like Jeb had told them to do. Then she went back to the corridor.

Jeb smiled at her. He led her and the others outside, where the ground was pure and thick and covered in snow. Max had never liked the feeling of snow. There hadn't been any snow in the School, of course. It was too hot there, seemingly all the time, and she'd never been allowed out. But in these few days with Jeb the snow had been awful. It was cold, like the metal in the School. She decided she didn't like it.

But with her coat on, and the soles of her shoes beneath her feet, the snow felt nice and it made a nice crunching sound.

"Now, I'm going to show you all how to make snowballs." Jeb explained. Max watched, curious, as he took some snow in his hand and packed it together to make a perfect little sphere.

"Wow," she breathed.

Jeb grinned. "Now, you can all play here in the snow for as long as you want. Do whatever you like – just don't go beyond the forest or out back. I want to be able to see you."

"What's the forest?" Nudge wanted to know.

"The trees," Jeb explained, pointing.

"We can't go near trees?" Nudge asked.

"No, you can, just don't go where they're … all close together." _God, how do I explain this kind of thing to children like them?_ _Heck, they're not even human children – or at least, not completely. This is ridiculous._

And then he reminded himself that one of those non-human children was his daughter.

He left them from there. It would be interesting to see how they reacted to playing in the snow. Very interesting. And he watched from the doorway.

Max, meanwhile, bent down in the snow, the knees of her capris grazing the snow. Brown eyes skirted over her Flock. Nudge was jumping up and down, throwing snow in the air. Angel and the Gasman were lying down a short ways away, rolling in the stuff, two toddler voices shrieking and giggling in perfect delight. Fang was lumbering away towards a single lone tree, utterly disinterested. Iggy was sitting cross-legged, his fingers gathering snow and letting it fall, feeling it properly for the first time in his life.

Max wanted to make a snowball. Jeb had told her that she and "the others" could throw it at each other. To her, it sounded like good fun. She gathered the snow in her hand and packed it tightly together. She inspected the result in her hand. Not half bad, if she did say so herself. It wasn't as perfect as Jeb's, but that was okay. This was good enough.

She skimmed the area for a victim and she pinpointed Fang. He was leaning against the lone tree, sulking. He never wanted to have any fun. The tree and him, they made a good match.

She pulled back her arm. She closed one eye, as Jeb had showed her and the others. She aimed. And she let go.

As it turned out, her aim was lamentable. The snowball fell short, hitting not Fang but Iggy's head. Max gasped as the nine-year-old yelped and rubbed his temple where the snowball made impact.

"Iggy…I'm so sorry…" she began.

Iggy hung his head low, shutting his eyes. "That really hurt…" he said in a small voice. "What was that for?"

"I'm sorry, really." Max stood frozen.

Iggy stood, one hand behind his back, the other still rubbing his temple. "That hurt, Max. Why did you do that? What are you, a Bad Wolf Man?"

"No! I'm so sorry – " She was cut short by a snowball whizzing by and hitting her square in the chest. She doubled over, surprised, but hardly in any pain. She spun wildly, expecting to see her attacker hidden behind a tree. A Bad Wolf Man, perhaps?

Then came the delighted cackling. Iggy, doubled over, his frame shaking with laughter. Clearly he was absolutely thrilled.

"Hey! No fair!" Max shouted in accusation.

"I got you, I got you…" Iggy sang, dancing in a little circle victoriously.

"How did you even hit me?" Max demanded.

"Followed the sound your voice." He emphasized this with another snowball, this one hitting Max in the chin. She fell over this time, blinking like a startled mole.

Iggy cackled. "Got you good there, didn't I?"

Max wasn't going to let him win. She made another snowball, aiming it right at his forehead, but she missed by a long shot and hit Nudge in the shoulder instead. The seven-year-old gasped, before ducking down to make a snowball of her own.

And then they were all laughing, making snowballs and throwing them about. Even little Angel joined in the fun, spinning around in the crossfire.

Only Fang remained in the sidelines, scowling as he leaned against his tree.

"Come on then, Fang! Play with us!" Nudge tugged at his arm.

He shrugged her off and shook his head. Nudge huffed and trooped back to Max. "He doesn't want to play," she reported with a pout.

"Then we'll just have to ambush him!"

Nudge shrieked her assent, and then they were all thrusting their poorly-packed snowballs at Fang, who was not quite so jovial.

And Jeb stood in the doorway, always watching. Always there.


	5. Boss

Those Little Moments

Chapter Five … Boss

_**Author's Note: While this chapter is inexcusably short, hopefully the fluffiness of it will make up for it. Also, this chapter is vaguely inspired by a certain scene from "American Hustle." Kudos if you get the reference.**_

**OOO**

Max loved her new bed. She did. Over the next several days, the ten-year-old would spend hours just lying in it. It was comfortable and blissful. Sometimes, she would listen to the television from her room, just lying there in her bed.

There were many toys in the house, which Jeb had apparently bought before rescuing them. But Max and her Flock didn't know how to play with toys, and they were too afraid of Jeb to be taught. So they sat on the shelves to collect dust.

Only the stuffed animals were played with. Angel would often spend hours tucked away behind the drapes of her four-poster bed, rocking teddy bears and stuffed bunnies. There were countless little animals which she gathered in her bed, making a sort of toddler's nest. A haven for a broken angel just recovering.

Iggy spent every possible waking moment listening to Jeb cooking. He would sit at the table whenever a meal was due and just … listen. What struck Jeb as odd was the look of pure delight on his face every time something started to burn or a small explosion was heard. Jeb wasn't exactly a highly-praised cook, and he recalled that Ari often complained about this.

Back when Ari was a priority.

Nudge, Jeb noted, took the most interest in the television. Of the six children, she spent the most time in front of it.

The Gasman, as experiments had discovered about a year ago, had a talent for mimicry. He, too, spent a great deal of his time in front of the television, but most of it was with Iggy. He would crawl into Iggy's lap and just sit there, sometimes rolling small plastic cards around the surface of the Formica table. Sometimes the Gasman would mimic Iggy, Fang, and Max, but he never did it to Jeb. He was afraid to.

Jeb observed these things and every day he filed a report to the Director. _The experiment is going very well, he would write, but the children just don't trust me._ _Yet. Subject Seven – "Nudge" is showing the most signs of progress in the name of trust and adjustment to her new surroundings. _

One thing that Jeb noticed was that he seemed to be the only one who referred to the subjects as _him_ and _her_, _he _and_ she. _The files that the Director sent back always referred to them as _it_.

Jeb didn't know why.

On the first day of February, Jeb decided it was high time he teach the children how to write. Well, maybe not the littler ones yet, but he would teach the older ones. Max and Fang.

First, however, he had to go to the city to buy paper and pencils. While there was plenty of paper and there were plenty of pencils lying around, he had to make it _appear_ as though he was buying them. The children couldn't know that this was planned.

"I'm going out," he told them over breakfast. "And I don't _think_ I'll be long, but I want you to stay here."

Maximum looked up from her scrambled eggs and nodded, wide-eyed. She returned her attention to the eggs.

"You're in charge while I'm out, okay, Maximum?" Jeb stood from the table, pushed his chair in, dropped his dirty dishes in the sink.

"In charge?" Maximum repeated in a small voice. "What's that mean?"

"It means…um…that you get to be the leader while I'm out. You get to be the boss."

"Oh," said Maximum. She looked rather pleased with herself as she nodded. "Yes, Jeb."

Jeb smiled at her and reached over to ruffle her hair. She flinched away with a whimper. "That's my girl," was all Jeb told her.

Once Jeb was gone, Max stood up and began to gather the dishes. Today she was going to be the _leader_. It was all very exciting to Max. She took all the dishes and deposited them into the sink, then clambered onto her chair, trying to look big and leader-like.

"I'm the leader today," she said. "You have to do what I tell you to do."

"What?" asked Nudge. "What do we do?"

Max considered this. "Go and watch TV until I decide," she ordered, and pointed at the television set. "Go on."

Her Flock looked up at her doubtfully, but they all trooped over to the sofa. Nudge turned on the television and they began to watch _Scooby-Doo!_ while Max stood on the chair.

She decided that the sounds from the TV were distracting her from being leadery, so she hopped down and skipped over to her bedroom. Shutting the door, she stood on her bed, feeling very tall and intimidating.

"You have to do this," Max addressed an imaginary Flock. "You have to do what I tell you to do. No! No, you can't do that."She practiced saying leadery things, and doing leadery things, like wagging her finger and stomping her foot.

Max was so lost in her fantasy she didn't notice Fang coming in. He opened the door and shut it behind him, all in perfect silence.

"Hi, Fang," Max smiled, hopping down. "I'm the boss today. I'm…" – what was it Jeb had said she was in? In chairs? No. In a chair. Yes, she thought that was it. – "…I'm in a chair." She saw it as imperative to remind him of this.

"What are doing?" Fang asked her, leaning against the wall.

"Being in a chair. Being the boss," she responded haughtily. "You have to do what I say."

"How?"

"How what?"

"How are you being the boss?"

Max frowned. She hadn't thought of that. "You have to do what I say," she answered at last. "And I can do whatever I want."

Fang raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"

Max pondered this. At last she shrugged. "Well, anything Jeb says I can do," she decided. She wasn't too sure of this, but if Jeb found out she did things she wasn't allowed to do, he might do hurting things to her. Or the others.

"Oh."

Iggy appeared. "So what do we do now, O Great Leader?"

Max stomped her foot. "What are you doing? I told you to watch television!"

Iggy shook his head. "I don't want to. I can't even see the television."

"Okay. That's fair," Max agreed. "But Fang, I told you to go and watch TV. Now you should go."

Fang shrugged and ambled off. Max turned to Iggy and took him by the hand. "Let's jump on the bed."

Iggy seemed pleased. "Did Jeb say we could?" he asked hopefully.

"He never said we couldn't," replied Max, helping him up onto the bed. She held tight to his hand and the two began to jump up and down to their heart's content.

**OoO**

Twenty-five minutes later, Max was very tired of jumping, and so was Iggy. He'd asked to leave and go listen to the TV but Max had refused his request.

Now, even the ten-year-old was worn out and she hopped lightly down from the bed, taking Iggy with her. "We're not going to jump on the bed anymore," she told him. "Let's go eat. I'm hungry."

Max marched off into the American kitchen, hollering, "Turn off the TV set now! I'm the boss today and you have to do what I tell you to do! I'm in a chair!"

"I'm in charge," Iggy corrected her knowingly.

"No, you're not," Max answered him. "I am."

"No, I mean, it's _I'm in charge_. Not _I'm in a chair_. That doesn't even make any sense."

A blush rose to Max's face as her cheeks blazed scarlet and she was glad that Iggy couldn't see her. "I knew that. I was just being funny." She shouted again, "Turn off the TV!"

"But Max," Nudge whined, "Max, the monster is about to catch Scooby!"

"The monster never _really_ catches them," Max said dismissively. "Now come on. Let's have something to eat."

The promise of food was much more inviting to Nudge, even more inviting that watching _Scooby-Doo!_ . So the seven-year-old turned off the television, despite protests from the Gasman and Angel. Fang of course remained silent.

"What do we do?" asked Nudge. "What are we gonna make?"

"I don't know," Max said. "Let's see what there is." She raced over to the fridge and began to poke through it. "I know! How about a stew?"

Jeb had made stew three times in the past month. Max wasn't all that fond of stew, but she liked that you could put all sorts of different foods in it. She would put in the foods she wanted. She was the leader today.

Max gathered a few things from the fridge and cupboards that she liked to eat. She liked apples, she liked lettuce, she liked orange juice, she liked corn flakes, she liked Oreos, she liked Wunderbars. But most of all she liked Weather's Original caramels, and so she emptied the entire bag onto the counter.

"Here, help me unwrap these," she ordered her Flock. "I'm the leader today and you have to do what I say." Max was sure that the message had sunken in at this point, but she didn't care. She liked reminding them of this simple fact.

A slightly unwilling Flock participated in helping her unwrap each of the little caramels. Only Angel was excused from this. The two-year-old sat cross-legged on the floor. She was cradling a teddy bear and repeatedly stroking its fuzzy ears.

At last, Max gathered all the caramels and dropped them into a pot. She threw in everything else – the apple, a few leaves of lettuce, a cup of orange juice, a handful of cornflakes, several Oreos, a Wunderbar. She stepped back and admired her work, trying not to look too pleased with herself. She glanced at Iggy. 'What now?"

"Jeb puts water in the pot and boils it," Iggy said slowly. "I think. I'm not sure that we can just put all that stuff in the pot and cook it just like that though,"

"Yes we can," Max argued stubbornly, filling the already overstuffed pot with water. Then she reconsidered. "Maybe we shouldn't boil it. Let's put it in the microwave. Doesn't it cook faster that way?"

"I don't think that's how you use a microwave, Max…" Iggy said uneasily.

"Yes it is." Max covered the pot with tinfoil and shoved it into the microwave. "Stop being so naggy. I'm the leader today, and you have to do as I say." She slammed the microwave door shut.

The seconds ticked by – one, two, three, four, five. The microwave burst into flames and exploded. Angel screamed. Iggy grinned. "…now _that_ was a beautiful noise."

"No!" Max yelped. She gaped at the object that had once resembled an ordinary kitchen microwave. At the blackened tiles of the kitchen. "How did that happen?"

"That was cool!" the Gasman said enthusiastically. "It went _boom_."

"Tell me what it looked like," pleaded Iggy, pulling the four-year-old onto his lap.

Before, however, the Gasman could give Iggy a vivid description of the now-smoldering microwave, the front door opened. Jeb.

Jeb had only been out for barely over an hour, and now it looked like the kitchen had exploded. His mouth fell open as he gaped at the smoking microwave, and the six little bird children standing guiltily before it. Make that five – Fang had either not been present or had slipped off without his noticing.


	6. Bored

**Those Little Moments**

OOO

_**Author's Note: Please note that the character descriptions in this chapter deviate slightly from the descriptions in the canon. Not anything major, just general descriptions of build. While I'm aware that the books state that many members of the Flock look older than their age, my headcanon forms them looking younger. Think about it; they're kids with practically no nutrition and are always hungry. Especially after leaving the School.**_

* * *

Chapter Six … Bored

* * *

Jeb wound up banning all six children from watching television for one week's time. He didn't really know what else to do. He couldn't even slap them or use any physical force. That was one of his few guidelines and imperative rules in this experiment.

Force was likely to remind the children of being in the Lab – or the School, as he'd observed they called it – and that just wouldn't do. The purpose of this experiment was to see how the children would respond to a warm, nurturing environment.

That night for dinner, Jeb made pasta. Pasta and salad. As usual, he began by setting everything up in a neat and orderly fashion. However, as he worked, he became increasingly aware of a pair of eyes on him. He turned, knowing who he would see. And sure enough, there stood Iggy, standing by the table.

"Hi." Iggy's young voice was soft.

"Iggy…"

"You said I could help with the kitchen," Iggy said hopefully. "Do you think you could teach me today, Jeb?" The nine-year-old bounced on his heels as he spoke. "Please?"

Jeb took a deep breath. "Iggy…"

"Please, Jeb. I want to learn. I want to learn so bad. You have to teach me." A pause. "It's not just about wanting the food to stay. I really, really want to learn how to cook. Cook like you do." His voice slid into desperation. "_Please_, Jeb. Max and Fang say you're gonna teach them how to write tomorrow. Well, I want to learn how to cook if I can't write."

Jeb took another deep breath. He was taking a lot of deep breaths these days. "Okay," he said at last. "Okay. I'll teach you how to cook. Come here."

Iggy's young face brightened visibly as he all but skipped over to Jeb. He was all but vibrating with excitement. He joined Jeb at the counter, standing on his toes slightly to reach. "Okay, Jeb. What do I do?"

Jeb took one small hand and guided it over to feel a soup ladle. Fascinated, the young boy's fingers traced its cool metal surface. His sightless eyes turned up to Jeb. "It's a spoon," he said. "A big spoon."

Jeb nodded, even if the boy couldn't see it. "Yep. Actually, it's called a _soup ladle_. We use it to serve soup."

"Is that all?" Iggy asked, frowning.

"Well. Generally, yes."

"Oh. Seems to me you could use it for a whole bunch of other things, but we only use it to serve soup? That's dumb. And a waste."

"Well," Jeb explained, "in the kitchen, most tools only really have one purpose."

"Oh. But when do I get to learn to cook?"

Jeb took his by the shoulder, sitting him back down at the table. Iggy turned his face towards Jeb, the soup ladle still in his hand. Jeb spoke to him slowly, although he wasn't really sure why. "If you're going to learn how to cook, Iggy, you'll have to know how to recognize different kinds of food and different tools first."

The nine-year-old's shoulders sagged. "Oh. Does that mean I can't do it then? I mean … how can I recognize them if I can't see them?"

Jeb took the soup ladle from Iggy's hands, laid it down on the table. He took the boy's fingers and ran them along the surface of the table. "By touch," he said slowly. "And…" his fingers wandered over to the boy's face. "…and by smell." He tweaked his nose teasingly, making Iggy yelp and laugh.

"It might take a long time," Jeb smiled, "but you'll learn eventually. I promise."

"I'll learn," Iggy swore. "I'll learn every touch and smell there is to learn."

Jeb laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. Progress. Progress. So much progress. "That's the spirit! Now, what about this?" He selected a teaspoon from the drawer and handed it to Iggy.

"A spoon. Smaller one this time."

"Right! And those small spoons are called teaspoons."

A tablespoon now. "This?"

"A big spoon. Not as big as the ladle, though."

"Yes, yes, very good. And we call this the tablespoon…"

As Jeb put different kitchen tools in Iggy's hands, the two of them laughed and enjoyed themselves. Iggy liked learning about the tools. He couldn't wait to actually learn how to cook, too. Then he would be able to make sure the food didn't go away, because he would _make_ it. He would make the food and they would never go hungry.

Something else came to mind – the sound of the microwave bursting into flames and blowing up. And the smell of it afterwards. Such a nice smell. Beautiful noise. Iggy wanted to know how to make more explosions like that.

But not yet. Later. On another day. Besides, he was already asking quite a bit from Jeb. He didn't want to push his limits. He couldn't. Because if he did then Jeb wouldn't want him anymore. He would think Iggy was a nuisance and he wouldn't want him.

Iggy knew that Jeb probably didn't even want him in the first place. After all, he was a liability. He was tiny for his nine and a half years, appearing to be about seven. So he wasn't very strong. Well, actually, he was, but he didn't look it. He wasn't as strong as Max was anyway.

But maybe if he was useful Jeb _would_ want him.

It wasn't until after they were through the lesson that Iggy started thinking about this. Why would he? After all, he was having such fun. So many new words, so much knowledge, spinning through his head. Everything so fresh and new and wonderful. Forks and knives and a hundred different kinds of spoons. Pots, pans, colanders. It was simple knowledge.

Of course, just about every nine-year-old knew everything there was to be known about kitchen accessories and the like. But Iggy, as well as the rest of the Flock, was a child who had spent his entire life knowing nothing but pain and hurt. Kept completeyly in the dark. It was a miracle any of them even knew how to speak, let alone form coherent sentences and organized trains of thought. And so for Iggy, his newfound knowledge was more precious than anyone could understand.

He delighted in all of it.

Perhaps the very best part was the _power_ it gave him. That feeling of being needed and being useful. Back at the School, there had been quite a bit of talk of "terminating" Iggy. After all, he was damaged. And even after the Whitecoats decided to keep him for a little while, experiment with a sightless subject, he still wasn't quite as valued as the others in the Avian Experiment.

If Jeb hadn't gotten them out when he did, Iggy would quite likely have died eventually. Not of starvation or from the horrible results of some awful experiment, but of being "terminated." No longer useful.

And so for Iggy, the need to be needed was great. Not that he really had to worry about that anymore, he reflected. He would be safe here. Nothing bad was going to happen to him here in this secluded house, not anymore.

It struck Iggy that he was no longer afraid of Jeb. Why and when this happened, he would never know. But _something_ in Iggy had changed that day. Boldness had taken place inside of him. Boldness he had been too afraid to let out.

OOO

Max was lying on her stomach, sprawled out on her bed. She'd unfurled her wings and was giving them gentle flaps. She was feeling very bored. The delight of having a bed was starting to fade off as she grew more and more used to it.

Jeb had said he was going to teach her how to write. To Max, that sounded boring too, but it wasn't as boring as what she was doing now. She wanted Jeb to call her and Fang already so she wouldn't be so terrifically _bored_.

Who knew what Jeb was doing, anyway? Max didn't know what kind of things grown-ups did in their spare time, let alone grown-up Whitecoats. Did Whitecoats even have spare time, period?

Max hopped from her bed, in search of something to do. She wasn't allowed to watch TV. She'd already explored every corner of the house, to the point that she knew every crack in the wall, every chip in the paint.

Maybe she'd be allowed to go outside. She hadn't explored outside yet. Excited, she folded up her wings and raced over to Fang's bedroom. Bursting open the door, she let out a giggle and jumped on Fang's bed. He was sitting on it, gazing out the window.

"Hey, Fang! Fang, Fang, Fangy Fang, Grumpy-Guts Fang!"

Fang looked at her, irritated. "What do you want?"

Max went on jumping. "Do you wanna go outside and explore?"

Fang shook his head and returned to gazing out the window.

Feeling rather miffed, Max bounced off the bed and waved her hand in front of his face. "Hey! How come?"

"'Cause I don't wanna." Fang didn't look at her as he said this, considering it the end of the matter, thank you very much.

Max crossed her arms over her chest and turned her back on him. "Fine. I'll just go and find somebody else then. I'm still the boss of you though. Remember that."

Fang sighed. "You're not. Jeb is."

"Jeb is the boss of me. I'm the boss of you. I'm like … the second boss and Jeb is the Head boss." At this, Max spun on her heel and marched out the door. She wouldn't let her pride be wounded so easily.

She still wanted to go outside, but it would be no fun going by herself. She could take Iggy, but she didn't want him to get hurt. Max decided to take Angel. Nudge spent most of her time either watching TV or playing with stuffed animals. The Gasman was always busy with God-knew-what. And besides, Angel normally did what Max told her to do.

She opened the door to Angel's room to find the two little girls sitting on the floor with their teddy bears. "Hey, Angel. Do you want to come and explore the woods with me? You too, Nudge."

"I want to stay here," Nudge whined, just as Angel bounced to her feet and said, "Yeah!"

"Okay," said Max. "Come on with me, Angel."

Delighted, Angel skipped over to Max and allowed herself to be picked up. Happily, the two-year-old rested her head against Max's shoulder and began to suck on her thumb.

_Least it isn't shoes anymore._

Max paraded into the kitchen, where she was surprised to find Iggy. He was sitting with Jeb feeling what looked to be a very flat pot. She stopped short. Jeb looked up at her.

"Maximum. Can we help you?"

Max shuffled awkwardly, looking at Jeb with nervous brown eyes. "Um … can I … can I go outside with Angel and explore outside and fly around a bit? Please?"

Jeb smiled broadly. "Of course you can. Dress warmly, you two."

Max grinned, turned on her heel, took off down the corridor. She set Angel down and began to rummage through the hall closet. She found her coat, Angel's little parka, and the box with their winter accessories in it.

"Come here, Angel." Max smiled at the toddler as she did up the zipper. "There we go. Good girl."

Angel smiled a toothy two-year-old's smile as Max kissed her on the cheek and turned to her own coat. And then, quick as you please, she dove forward and grabbed a boot. She plopped down on the floor and promptly shoved in into her mouth, chewing on its dirt-covered toe.

When Max turned around again, she drew in a hissing breath and grabbed the boot from the toddler. "Angel! We've told you to stop that!"

Angel's face crumpled up. "My shoe."

"No. No, it's not your shoe. This belongs to Nudge. Not your shoe. Stop it, Angel."

"_My_ shoe! Give shoe back." Angel whined, reaching for it.

"Fine." Max held it out, just out of Angel's grip. "Fine, then. We'll just wait here, and not go out."

The threat seemed to be enough as Angel hopped up and reached for Max's hand. "Want to go out."

"Good girl."

Taking Angel's tiny hand, Max pushed open the door, and she stepped outside. The world waited for her, a breath and whisper of temptation. Unknown terrain, stretching on for who knew how far.

Max grinned and pulled Angel onto her hip, kicking the door shut behind her. "Come, Angel. Let's go exploring."


	7. Lost

**Those Little Moments**

**OoO**

_**Author's Note: I'm sorry to announce that, with Chapter Seven completed, this story is already halfway over. It's been great writing it, but don't worry. There are still another seven chapters after this, and possibly an Epilogue. And please review. They make me happy.**_

_**WARNING: contains mild coarse language**_

* * *

Chapter 7 … Lost

Nudge watched Max and Angel go. She didn't really want to go with them – it was too cold out to want to do anything outdoors. But sometimes she worried about Max. Her sister figure was always so reckless and bold. Even in the School Max would do dumb things. Once she'd spat at one of the Erasers. That hadn't been too clever, if you asked Nudge.

On the other hand, the seven year old reasoned, Max wasn't just their sister, but like a mother too. She always took good care of Nudge and the others and thought about them before herself. Most of the time, anyway. Nudge couldn't remember why Max had spat at the Eraser, but she knew it was probably because the wolf creature had tried to hurt one of the Flock.

The Flock. Nudge liked the name Max had given them. "It's because we're all birds," Max had explained. "And birds live in groups called Flocks."

"How would you know that?" Iggy had asked her.

"I just do. Anyway, it's because we're like birds."

"Caged birds."

Well. They weren't caged birds anymore. They were free and they lived in this house with Jeb. Nudge liked the house. She liked wandering through it. Especially at night. It was a little bit spooky, and the floor was cold, but sometimes Nudge would open her window and spread out her wings as she leaned out of it. The little girl always felt like the wind was beckoning her, calling out her name.

And she'd tried to climb out of the window to fly. Nudge knew how to fly. She'd done it before, a few times, and it was the only time she'd ever felt anything close to happiness back in the School. Nothing but the wind in her ears and feathers.

Nudge had just been about to jump out of the window when she'd heard an angry voice. "Nudge!" It had been Jeb. "Nudge, what are you doing? Get back into bed."

The voice had been angry enough to make Nudge crawl back under her covers and hide there. "I'm sorry. Really I am. It's just that, I couldn't sleep. And I kind of wanted to fly. I've flown before, right? Back at the School, I mean. I just wanted to fly."

Jeb had sat down on her bed and stroked her unruly black hair. "Let's not do any flying away just yet, okay?"

Nudge's wings twitched now. From the window she watched as Max and Angel went off on their adventure. She wondered if they were going to fly away. She hoped not.

"You guys should be staying right here," Nudge mumbled. She turned away from the window and back to the teddy she was holding. "Stay here with me, all of you."

OOO

"Where first?" Angel asked Max. The two of them had been walking in circles around the house for a long time now, and eventually Max hadn't been able to carry her. Angel's feet were sore and tired and she didn't understand why they were just going in circles.

Before Max could answer, the door burst open. In a tumble of arms and legs, a certain four year old boy tore out into the snow. The Gasman. He bounded awkwardly over to Max and Angel, tripping once or twice in the snow.

"Gazzy!" Angel squealed, jumping up and down. She trotted over to her big brother and threw her arms around him. The Gasman patted her head and looked up at Max.

"Are you guys going exploring? I'm coming."

"Okay, come along," said Max. She reached out for his little hand and he took it, perfectly content.

Max picked Angel up again and continued to walking around the house in circles. "Why are we doing this?" the Gasman demanded. "You've been doing this like forever, Max."

As if coming out of a trance, Max blinked. "What? Oh. Sorry. I'm sorry. Let's get to exploring. Come on, move your little butts." Max turned purposefully on her heels and marched towards the woods, the Gasman stumbling along behind her. As she went, Max gave Angel's rear a little slap, making the two year old giggle lightly.

They went through the woods for several moments of prolonged silence. The only sound boots crunching snow beneath their soles. The threesome weaved in and out of the trees, looking around.

"This is boring, Max," whined the Gasman after a while. "I'm bored."

"Shush, Gazzy." Max said sternly. "I'm the boss of you, and you're _supposed_ to do what I say."

The Gasman fell into a sulking silence. He pouted and kicked at twigs and stones. He was in a foul enough mood that Max saw it fit to yank at his arm.

"Ouch!"

"Stop your sulking then, unless you don't want to go exploring." Max was starting to wish that she hadn't invited the little siblings along. Angel, who she was still carrying, was half-asleep and leaning her cherubic little head on Max's shoulder.

The threat was enough to put the Gasman back into silence. His pout disappeared as they went on walking, but the sullen glower remained. _Ah_, Max thought_, the stubbornness of a four year old. Thank God I'm not so stubborn._

They went on walking. At one point they came across a frozen brook, on which they slid for a few minutes before continuing. Max glanced up at the sky every so often, at the slowly darkening sky.

"We should get back," Max advised. "I don't wanna get lost."

"Why would we get lost?" the Gasman rang out in a petulant tone, one that matched Nudge's perfectly. He smirked at this, feeling pleased with himself at his mimicry skills.

Max rolled her eyes in annoyance. "'Cause it's dark out and we're in the _woods_, nimrod." She tugged at his arm again, steering them back over to the house. Or at least, where she thought the house was. "Come on, you guys, let's go."

"Sleepy," Angel announced. She wrapped her arms tighter around Max's neck. "Wanna go to bed."

"Soon, Angel," Max murmured absently, as they went on walking. The threesome continued their trek, through tall trees that loomed and cast shadows over pure white snow. Meanwhile, the sky grew ever darker until Max could hardly see in front of her.

"Are you sure this is the way?" the Gasman asked. "'Cause I think you got us lost." The four year old glanced up at Angel, who was now fast asleep.

"Sure I'm sure," Max lied. "I bet we're almost there." Another step forward. Hoping to God this was the right way. Knowing it really wasn't. Another step. Another. Another. Another. An –

It was dark enough outside that Max could hardly see what was in front of her. And so she didn't see the cliff that she'd just stepped off of.

She screamed as she went down, as there was nothing beneath her feet. All so sudden. Angel woke and yelped. The Gasman screamed. All of them screaming.

It wasn't so much a cliff as it was a sudden dip in the earth. Max rolled roughly down the rough slope, stones scraping her face and all but crushing little Angel beneath her. She rolled and fell, down, down, down.

Suddenly, she was in the air again. Falling freely. She had no time to snap out her wings. Her mind was scrabbled and confused. Max didn't know what to do. She was falling. Just falling.

Impact. All so sudden. Pain, exploding all over her. Her head, her shoulder. Arm feeling funny. When she dared to crack open one eye she saw it, crumpled under her at a strange angle. Pain. Lots of pain. Head hurting … Angel … Gazzy … where … okay … what …

And then it was all gone. All the pain in her head and arm and all her worry for the little ones. All gone as everything went black. And then there was nothing.

OOO

It was getting late. Jeb knew it. Maximum should be back by now. Maximum and Angel and the Gasman. The sky was growing darker. They must be lost.

Jeb cursed himself for letting the girl out. _Stupid, stupid, stupid _… _Jeb you stupid fool._

These were valuable subjects, especially Maximum and Angel. Subject One and Subject Eleven. Over a million gone into raising them. And now he, the almighty and oh-so-clever Jeb, had _lost them_.

He cursed himself again and glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty. Nine-thirty on a cold February day. At night. In the woods it must be pitch black out now. And he might have lost some very important subjects.

He was done for.

There was a cliff in the area, one she might have stepped off of. Wings or not, if she went into shock…

"Shit," he muttered. Already moving towards the door. "Fang! Iggy! Nudge!"

The three children appeared at his side the instant he called their names, all with set faces and curious eyes. With the exception of Fang of course.

"Where are you going, Jeb?" asked Nudge, wide-eyed.

"Out. To look for Maximum and Gazzy and Angel. I'm afraid they may have gotten lost." He didn't mention the cliff.

"Max wouldn't get lost," said Nudge worriedly. "I mean. She'll find her way."

"Not in this darkness, she won't."

"Sure she will," Nudge argued, not sounding too sure herself.

Jeb was already out the door, putting his coat on as he went.

OOO

Waking up. Waking up to sounds. Noises, muffled noises. Her head still hurting. And her arm, still crushed under her. Broken, she managed to reason through layers of pain. Probably broken.

Angel. Gazzy. She tried to sit up, only to find the pain too strong. She lay back down. From the corner of her eye, she could sort of see Gazzy. He lay crumpled against a boulder. No, not crumpled. Asleep.

Asleep. Unless …?

She quickly dismissed the dark thought. No, he wasn't dead. Just asleep. Yes, his chest was moving up and down. Unconscious, more likely. Angel was curled up in her big brother's lap, definitely asleep.

The pain came again. Searing white knife on pain. Max drew in a hissing breath.

The voices again. Muffled and … shouting. Somebody shouting. Her name. Maximum. Maximum. Maximum. Jeb's voice. Coming to her … his voice … still so much pain … trying to call out to him …

The next thing she knew, he was gathering her in his arms. He was holding her. And her head and arm still hurting. Pain. Jeb … picking up Angel and Gazzy. All three of them in his arms.

Head. Still hurting. Slumped in his arms. Not sure what … everything going black again … what … not understanding … still so much pain … everything fading … fading into nothing …


	8. Obnoxious

**Those Little Moments**

OOO

Chapter Eight … Obnoxious

* * *

They were all around her, coming at her through layers of cotton in her state. Voices, whispers, noises. Not registering. Nothing registering but her headache. Pain in her shoulder too. Sometimes, through the haziness of unconsciousness she felt a hand gently stroking her face. Smooth and soothing fingers. Felt good. Didn't know whose fingers they were. Didn't care. Just felt good. And then she'd be pulled back under by the haunting lullaby of sleep.

Night times were the worst. There was only one person beside her at night, and it was lonely. She didn't know who it was, only recognized the burning in her shoulder. Her head still sore.

It felt like a long time before she woke up again. Blearily Max opened her eyes. Her lids were heavy. She wished she'd feel better soon. A voice – Nudge's voice – came to her.

"She's awake."

Max glanced over at the seven-year-old. She was seated on a chair with her legs tucked under her. Iggy was next to her on the floor, with a sleeping Gasman in his lap. When she saw that Max was looking at her she gave a small wave. "Hi, Max."

Max closed her eyes again. "My head hurts…" she mumbled. "And…" Her arm felt strange. She opened her eyes again and studied it. It was in a sling.

"You fell off of a cliff," Nudge supplied knowingly. "You fell off a cliff with Angel and Gazzy. They're okay though, mostly. Gazzy sprained his ankle and Angel scraped her arms and legs pretty nastily, but otherwise they're fine. You took the worst hit, see. When you fell, you broke you arm and kind of ripped open your shoulder on a rock. Ugh, when Jeb brought you in it was all bloody. And you hit your head pretty hard too. He was worried you'd had a … um … concave … er …"

"Concussion," Iggy said automatically.

"Right. Concussion. Did you have a concussion, Max? Do you know? Are you seeing stars and spots? Can you remember things? Is your brain working right? I hope so, it would make me pretty sad if it wasn't. Tell me what you remember, Max. What's my name? How old am I? What is the School? Do you remember the School? Tell me about the School okay? Actually, wait. No. Don't. Don't tell me about the School. I don't want to think about that place. How about you tell me … what did we have for dinner last night? Or, no, you've been out for a couple days so of course you wouldn't know. And I don't remember what we had for dinner two days ago myself! Ha! Isn't that, like, so ironic?"

Max put a hand to her head. "Hush, Nudge. I can't … ugh, my head hurts."

Nudge fell into silence. Of course, being Nudge, it only took her a few seconds before she could bear the silence no longer. She began to babble again. "Max, I know your head hurts. So listen to me, I'm going to go and get Jeb. He's sleeping, I think. I'm going to go and wake him up. That way he'll know to come for you. Iggy, you keep an eye on her, okay? So to speak, I mean. Oh, gee. That was rude. I'm sorry, Ig. All right, I'm off. I'm going off to see Jeb. I'm going to go and find him, wake him up. He should check on you, I think. So that you'll be okay. Or make sure you are still okay. Like, what if your shoulder wound got worse or infected or something? Yikes! We don't know if you had a concussion or not. He has to check that kind of thing. Okay. I'm leaving now. I'm getting up from my chair, see? See how I'm getting up from my chair. And now I'm moving towards the door – "

Iggy spoke up, irritated. "Nudge. Shut up."

In a patter of light feet, she was gone, disappeared out of the bedroom. Max cracked open one eye and tried to sit up. The pain exploded in her hurt shoulder and she collapsed back down onto the bed again. "Oh, God."

She was starting to remember falling off the cliff. It was coming back to her now. She'd been stupid to take Angel and the Gasman out into unknown terrain like that. They could have been killed. Recalling what Nudge had told her – Gazzy sprained his ankle and Angel scraped her arms and legs pretty nastily – she peeked over the edge of the bed. The Gasman was still curled up, asleep, in Iggy's lap. Now she saw, under his pajama pants, that one leg was bandaged.

She'd hurt him. She'd hurt his leg. It was all her stupid fault. Guiltily, she squeezed her eyes shut. Then, "Hey, Iggy?"

Iggy started at the sound of her voice. "Yeah?"

"Iggy, how long was I out?" Max asked softly.

Iggy lifted a shoulder. "A couple of days. Jeb says your arm should be okay soon. He says we heal unnaturally fast. He says your head should be fine soon, too. Your shoulder will take longer to heal. You ripped the muscle."

This was news to Max. She winced slightly. "What about Gazzy's ankle?"

Another shrug. "I don't know. It'll heal soon too, I guess. Dunno how long though. He still can't walk on it and I have to carry him everywhere."

This sudden kindness from Iggy was refreshing. They hadn't been with Jeb for long, but he seemed to be recovering and adjusting to their new life quite well. He was normally so smug and sarcastic. Max liked him far better this way, and she made a note to try and keep him like that. She was the boss of him, after all, and she could probably whack it into him.

Not a likely scenario. Iggy was stubborn and had a tongue sharp enough to kill with.

Footsteps sounded, loud and fast. Jeb burst in with Nudge at his heels. His sudden arrival made Max flinch. She'd done something wrong. He was going to hurt her now. No, no, if he hurt her she'd fight back.

Instead Jeb took a seat on the edge of her bed. Max didn't move a muscle, eyeing him warily. "What do you want?"

He smiled. "Maximum. How you feeling?"

"My head and shoulder are hurting."

"I don't think you have a concussion," he said softly, reaching for her. The ten year old shut her eyes tightly, turned her face away. But he was only stroking her forehead gently, brushing light brown locks of her out of her eyes. "I've told you I won't hurt you, hon. It's okay. You can stop being so afraid of me, Maximum."

Max nodded. Not going to hurt her. Jeb was not going to hurt her. "So, I'm okay? Can I get up? How's Angel?"

"She's fine. Her arms and legs aren't as scraped up any more, almost totally healed." He was still stroking her forehead, and it felt nice. She wanted him to stroke her forehead more often. "And yes, you can get up if you want. I'll go make breakfast."

Jeb stood up, and left the room. Iggy stood immediately too. Still carrying the Gasman, he followed. Was Iggy going to help? She recalled the day before the cliff incident, when she saw Iggy with Jeb in the kitchen. If he could learn how to cook that would be wonderful for him.

Slowly, Max climbed from her bed. Nudge followed her as she left her room. Down the hall. To the room Angel and Nudge shared. She stepped through the door hesitantly, as if she were afraid of what she might find.

It was still the same room, however. Of course it was. Still toys strewn over the wooden floor. The fuzzy red shag carpet still dirty with cookie crumbs. Cookie crumbs from what seemed to Max to be a lifetime ago. She stepped lightly over a stray doll and pushed aside the curtains of Angel's bed.

The two year old was asleep, lying on her side. Blond hair spread out like a halo behind her little head. Chest rising and falling ever so slightly. With her good arm, Max shook her shoulder gently.

"Hey. Sweetie."

Angel stirred, opening her bright blue eyes. She smiled widely. "Hi Max."

Max sat down on the toddler's bed. "Morning."

Angel cocked her head. "Don't worry, Max. Not mad at you. I'm okay."

Max froze. "What? I didn't say anything. I-it's like you…"

The cherubic little blonde smiled sweetly. "You did. Wondered if I was okay. _Asked_ me," she added quite matter-of-factly.

Heart starting to beat faster, Max croaked, "I thought it. Like you read my mind."

Angel shrugged, then lay back down and fell right back to sleep. Max shook her head in confusion. Mind reading. That didn't make sense. With a sigh, she rose and nearly ran into Nudge.

"Angel can read _minds_," the seven-year-old said in awe. "She can read minds!"

"Don't be silly, Nudge, of course she can't."

"I'm telling Jeb! This is kind of creepy," Nudge said emphatically. She spun on her heel, disappearing out the door. Her cries could be heard all the way down the hall. "Jeb! Jeb! Angel can read minds! Would you believe it? She can read minds! Jeb!"

Jeb came running. All but tripping over his own feet. "Angel is…? What do you mean?"

Nudge trotted along behind him. "She read Max's mind," the young girl said breathlessly.

Angel, who was still very much asleep, didn't move. Jeb chuckled. "Are you sure, Maximum?"

Max rolled her eyes. "I'm not the one who said Angel's a mind reader. That would be Nudge. Angel knows me too well and she guessed what I was thinking, that's all."

Jeb smiled and nodded. "I'm sure that's it. Now, let's let the poor kid sleep. She's been having a rough couple of days, worrying about you."

Max shuffled her feet. She turned away, not wanting to reflect on it. Angel was hurt because of her. It was her own stupid fault Angel was hurt, and still the two year old thought only of Max. Not of herself.

Max took a deep breath and marched out of the room. Into the kitchen. Something was cooking, and whatever it might be it smelled damn good. Iggy was standing over the stove, poking at something in the frying pan. Iggy, cooking! It was a wonderful sight. Max sat down as quietly as she could at the table, trying not to startle him.

"Hi, Max," he greeted her. He could hear her apparently. How, she had no idea, especially over the loud hiss of the frying pan. Needless to say, Max jumped. She banged her broken arm against the table and drew in a gasping breath of pain. Sharp, new hurt pierced her injured arm and she doubled over. Iggy couldn't see her, and she took this to her advantage by giving him a fierce glare.

"What are you cooking?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Omelet," said Iggy. He didn't turn around. "Um. Mushroom omelet. Can you go wake up Gazzy for me, and bring him here?"

The mention of the Gasman made Max squirm again. The Gasman, who she'd injured. Sprained the ankle of. "Okay," she said quietly. Rising, she made her way down the corridor to the Gasman's room.

The four year old was awake now, sitting up in bed and playing with the blankets, twisting the sheets around and around his arm. Squeezing tight, as if it were a tourniquet. Then, unraveling them.

Max rapped lightly against the door. "Hiya, Gazzy."

He looked up and offered Max a half-smile. "Oh, hi, Max."

She hovered in the doorway, the guilt of injuring him still consuming her. "How is your ankle? I know it's my fault it's sprained."

The Gasman shrugged. "It's okay, I guess, but Jeb says I can't walk on it for a while."

She looked away. "Sorry."

"I'll tough up to it," said the Gasman bravely.

"That's my little soldier."

Here he looked up hopefully, head cocked to one side like a puppy. Angel did that too sometimes, Max thought. The two little siblings were so alike in every manner it was endearing. Both had the same ash blond hair, his in an unfixable cowlick. Hers long and stringy. The same round faces and wide noses. Different smiles. That was just about the only difference. While Angel's was a tiny little half-smile, he would grin broadly or give a mischievous smirk. "Breakfast?" he asked.

Max smiled. "Yes. Breakfast. C'mere, you." She picked him up and carried him into the kitchen. By now, Iggy was already helping Jeb serve the omelet.

Eating was hard to do with only one arm. She didn't dare to move the broken one. Every time she did, the pain burned harder and fiercer in her hurt shoulder. The ten year old ate awkwardly, the eggs falling off her fork. This of course, was priceless to the younger three, who giggled as they observed her failure.

Poor Iggy was missing out on the fun, being blind. Fang was the same emotionless rock he always was, eating silently. Not making a sound. He didn't ask Max how she was, which irritated the brunette girl. He could at least have the courtesy to ask her how she was. Obnoxious jerk. Max liked the word obnoxious. Iggy had called her that once. She hadn't known what it meant and asked him. When he told her, he'd been slapped, but now that she thought about it she liked the word. Obnoxious. It made her sound smart. And just because she wasn't obnoxious didn't mean Fang wasn't.


	9. Nightmares

**Those Little Moments**

* * *

Chapter Nine … Nightmares

WARNING: much of this chapter is rather dark and contains mentions of Max's time at the School in detail.

OOO

Jeb all but pounced on his laptop that night, as soon as the children were in bed. Opening up a new file on his e-mail, Jeb Batchelder filed a new report.

About Subject Eleven – Angel. And her bizarre new power. Mind reading. Of course, it had all been programmed. Nobody had expected her ability to come into play so early. At the age of two, for God's sake! Two! Jeb had been thinking she'd start reading minds at the age of thirteen, fourteen. As she entered puberty.

To Marian Jensen…

His fingers trembled as he typed the words. Too powerful. So much potential. But if she was reading minds, then she might discover the truth. The purpose of the experiment. That this wonderful "safe haven" was all just another part of the dubbed Avian Experiment.

This realization came to him suddenly, harsh cold truth consuming him, choking him. For heaven's sake, he'd now have the censor his own _thoughts_! "Shouldn't have signed up for this…" Jeb muttered to himself. He clicked the Send button with more violence than necessary. "Should have given this position to Reilly or something…"

But no. No, of course that was inanely stupid. This was his duty. All in the name of science, it was his duty. And, he supposed, a duty to his daughter. Maximum. It was time she learnt how to defend herself. In her life, Maximum would encounter many obstacles and she'd need to know self defense in order to get by.

His daughter. He didn't quite love her. No, not exactly, it wasn't exactly love. After all, his daughter though she may be, she wasn't human. Strong though she was, she was a lesser species. It was a sense of duty, a sense of loyalty, curiosity, fascination hidden behind a mask of affection.

With a heavy sigh, Jeb shut his laptop and shut out the lights on his way out his study.

OoO

Max stood in front of the mirror, wiping away toothpaste foam with the back of her hand. It was kind of late, but she'd forgotten to brush her teeth. She'd realized this as she lay in bed, a foul taste forming in her mouth.

She caught sight of her reflection. Jeb had explained to her that this reflective surface was called a _mirror_. Max liked to say the word _mirror_. It made her sound clever. The more words she knew, the better she felt. Iggy of course already knew the word. It seemed to Max that Iggy knew just about every word there was. It grew annoying, whenever she didn't know a word and he did.

The girl in the mirror was a pathetic looking thing. Cheeks hollow and pale skin. Deep brown eyes that bulged slightly, giving Max the look of a half-cooked rabbit. Light brown locks fell in messy, unruly clumps around her bony shoulders. She looked even more lamentable with her arm in a sling.

Slowly, the ten year old turned around. Her back was exposed slightly – one of the buttons of her nightdress had become undone but she couldn't reach with just one arm. This revealed her protruding spine and a back marred with angry welts and marks. Burns all down her legs. The skin at her ankle, where her metal cuff had been, was still raw and reddened. It probably always would be.

With a sigh, Max ripped those bulging brown eyes away from her reflection. She didn't like looking. Back at the School, Max didn't know what she looked like. She knew she didn't look any better than any of the other subjects. All of them so hollow and thin and eyes that always seemed dead.

She crawled back into bed and shut her eyes. And then sleep, that wicked, wicked thing, called to her, pulled her into its dark embrace into a world she couldn't escape from.

_They come for her with a cart, to wheel the cage on. Silence and fear, thick in the air. She knows they've come for her. And sure enough, one of them pounces forward, shoving a needle into her arm. Its poison works its way through her body with cold speed and in seconds she has been taken over by unconsciousness._

_When she wakes, she's on her back on a cold metal table. Wings half-crushed beneath her. Clamps hold her eyes open. She is naked, her pillowcase-like garment removed. Wrists, ankles, waist, and neck are all bound with cool metal cuffs. The cuffs are attached to long mechanical arms. She knows what this is for. They are both to bind her and forcefully move her. At the press of a button her arm is yanked upwards, or her head turned in any direction. This is the annual inspection all subjects go through on their birthdays. She thinks so anyway. That means she must be ten today. _

_Every year there is an inspection. In the past her inspections have lasted three long days of no sleep and constant pain. Every time she starts to nod off in exhaustion she is given a shot of adrenalin. She hates the inspections more than anything. Needles and knives and scalpels. Once they wanted to look at her lungs and they cut into her chest with nothing but a faint dose of a drug to make the hurt less. Not that it did any good. _

_As she comes to, she is suddenly aware of something binding her mouth. It's rough and sticky, and when she tries to push out her tongue to poke at it she finds she can't open her mouth. A gag? To stop her from screaming in pain? She doesn't know. Doubts it. For she will open her mouth so wide and scream so loudly the gag will be ripped off. _

"_It's awake," says a voice and then there is a needle in her arm. She doesn't know what it does. Adrenalin, probably. "What are we studying?"_

"_Its wings," says another voice, and as her frightened brown eyes flit over she thinks she sees him. A man, light brown hair and glasses. "Turn it over. I want to see how its insides look."_

"_The inside of its wings?"_

"_Like the muscle," the man's voice says. _

_Her heart is beating out a wild rhythm now and her breathing comes quick and shallow. They aren't going to cut off her wings? She is aware of the metal arms turning her over. They drop her onto her stomach, leaving her half-crushed wings exposed. She whimpers slightly, unable to make any proper noises with the gag. She doesn't know what the gag is made out of, but it's stiff and won't give way. She can't even part her lips a crack. She wishes she could close her eyes. _

_But she doesn't. They flit everywhere, trying to take in her surroundings. She can sort of see someone coming at her with a knife. Oh God, they're going to cut off her wings, aren't they? Tears pool in her eyes and blur her vision. She attempts to grit her teeth together but finds that this stupid gag leaves her powerless to do even that. _

_The knife bites into her wing and inside she is screaming, screaming. Fighting to screw her eyes shut. And then it's over. They haven't cut off her wing, just a corner of it. _

"_Clean up the blood," a Whitecoat says. "Clean up the blood and take it in for examination."_

_Shuffling. A door opens, closes. But it's only the beginning. The metal arms turn her over again and the horrors have only just begun. _

Max woke with a relieving start. She was perspiring and breathing heavily. Almost out of instinct, she opened and closed her mouth, swished her tongue around, making sure that the gag was gone. She blinked rapidly.

_That was months ago, Max_, she reminded herself. _It's over now._ But involuntarily, with her good arm, she reached to feel her wing, the snipped corner. That just about did it. Touching the wound made it hurt again. And she was back on the cool metal table with a knife slicing into her wing. Only this time she could scream.

She screamed every scream she'd been robbed of. Shrieking and wailing and screaming in pain that all came rushing back in a torrent of memory. She wept into her pillow.

The door opened, and she shot upwards with raised fists. A tiny voice younger than her ten years came out. "Leave me alone! I swear … if you … if you hurt me I'll … I'll …"

"It's just me," said a voice that most certainly did not belong to a Whitecoat. Now that her eyes adjusted to the light she could see the figure in the doorway. Iggy. Relieved, Max curled into a ball and rested her chin at her knees.

"Oh," she said softly. "Come in?" It came out sounding like a question.

Iggy came forward silently and sat on the edge of her bed. Of course he hadn't needed to turn the lights on when he heard her cries. She couldn't see his face, still hidden shadow. But his arms came around her and the blind boy pulled her close. Patting her shoulder.

She hated this feeling. Like she was a little girl, a child. Two years old, like Angel. Needing to be comforted over a scraped knee. That was silly – Iggy was over half a year younger than she was, still just nine. He'd be ten soon but that hardly mattered. It made her feel like she was vulnerable. Max was not vulnerable. Max was not weak. But she was so broken now, she allowed herself to be held and cradled.

The door opened again and this time it was Jeb. He rushed over. Iggy slinked away, hovering in the corner as Jeb picked Max up. She was light enough to carry easily and he rocked her back and forth, back and forth. Stroking her knots of light brown hair he whispered, "It's okay. It's okay. They're not going to get you. We'll never be found here. It's okay."

And then Jeb carried Maximum off to his room as she fell back asleep in his arms. An uncertain Iggy trailed along behind. Jeb opened the door to his room with one hand and laid Maximum down in his bed. Tucked the blankets around her.

"Jeb?"

He started as he saw Iggy just behind him. "Yes?"

"Can we sleep in your bed tonight?"

Jeb smiled. "Sure. Of course. Climb on in. Don't wake Maximum."

Iggy did so, lying down on the other end and curling up into a little ball. Jeb awkwardly squeezed into his bed. There was little room left now, but Iggy rested his head against Jeb's shoulder and in seconds he, too, was asleep. So Jeb put his arm around Maximum and there they rested together, just the three of them. Safe.


	10. Plan

**Those Little Moments**

Author's Note: Well, this one includes mentions of Max's time at the School again. So reader discretion is advised. (Half of the chapters have, of course, and if you made it through Max's nightmare in Chapter Nine, I think you'll be okay here.)

OOO

Chapter Ten … Plan

Max often had dreams at the School. Not always – so many of her sleeps were drug-induced blackness – but when she did, she always dreamt. She never had nightmares. Her own life was a nightmare, after all. No, instead Max's dreams were exciting and good.

She often dreamt of infiltrating the School. Of breaking open the bars of her cage and taking all the Whitecoats, of killing and hurting them just as they'd hurt her and killed some of her friends. She remembered clearly to this day that there had been one other bird-child back at the School. A girl, two years younger than she. She'd called herself Steel, because she'd been tough as nails for a little girl her age. Max had been nine, and Steel had been seven when they killed her.

Seven. Nudge's age.

They'd wanted to test a new drug, and so they'd taken Steel and injected her with it. She'd gotten sick and then she'd died two weeks later.

In Max's dreams Steel was there. And all of them made the Whitecoats hurt. Those had been her favorite dreams to have. She never had that dream anymore, though. Only nightmares came to her in her sleep now. They were always dark and frightening. All she had to fear.

When Max woke she found that she was in Jeb's bed. He wasn't in his bed, though. To her confusion, Iggy was. He was curled up on his side, snoring softly. What was he doing in Jeb's bed?

With a sigh Max crawled out of bed and winced as she jostled her elbow. She was thinking about Steel again, who often came into her nightmares. Never as the sweet girl she was, but as a dark creature with glowing red eyes and sharp teeth. "_You let them kill me! It's your fault, Max! All your fault!_"

Max padded down the hall, her brown eyes almost instinctively darting left and right. Waiting for the dark things to come for her. Instead, she found Jeb in his study, hunched over a funny-looking device she'd never seen before.

It wasn't small, but it was very thin and flat. A screen glowed, like the one on the television. The bizarre contraption looked like it had been folded in half, and the screen was on the top half. The other half lay flat on the desk. Jeb was poking at it with his fingers in rapid succession, making a clacking sound.

She watched him in a sort of half-fascination for a while. She didn't know what he was doing, but she liked to watch him from a distance. At last, she spoke up. "Morning, Jeb."

He jumped almost a foot in the air and spun around. When he saw Max he relaxed visibly and closed his odd machine. "Oh. Hi. Good morning, Maximum. How's your shoulder?"

"Hurting," she mumbled. "It still hurts."

Jeb nodded. "Okay. Well, it'll be healing. Maybe just sit down for most of today, all right?"

Max nodded. "Yes, Jeb." She didn't ask if she could watch TV, even if she'd like to. Jeb had already told them that they couldn't watch TV. She turned to go and sit down, but before she went she added softly, "Um … Jeb?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Maximum?"

"Iggy's in your bed. I was too, actually. I think I was having nightmares."

"You were having nightmares," he confirmed. "And let Iggy sleep. It's okay. I let him sleep in my bed overnight."

She nodded slowly then disappeared round the corner. Sitting down on the sofa she crossed her legs and began to pick absently at her toenails. It was too early to go wake anyone up to play with, so she needed something to do. The ten year old pulled at her toenail hard, until she broke it.

She started to bleed, and she watched as the blood pooled in a little bead. There wasn't much blood, and it didn't spill onto the sofa. She took the little bit of blood on one finger and brought it to her lips. It tasted of salt. She'd tasted blood before, of course. But that was when she cut open her lip back at the School. She cut her lip all the time back at the School. It struck her as odd that blood from her lip should taste the same as blood in another part of her body. Salty.

It seemed that everything in her life was salty. Foul-tasting and salty, just like blood. Distractedly, Max began to tug at another toenail, tugging and ripping it away until there was nothing left.

She did this to the next nail, and the next, and the next, until they were all nothing but rough and ragged stumps, bloodied slightly. And then she moved on to the other foot. Once she pulled too hard and took some skin with her nail. Her toe bled harder. But still she carried on, and at last when she'd finished with both feet she sat still and admired her work.

"Max!" came a small voice and she looked up.

Nudge was standing there, gaping at the ruined nails. "Max, what did you just do?"

Max blinked. "I took my toenails out."

"Why?"

In answer Max only shrugged, and Nudge shrugged too. The seven year old brushed the bits of nail off of the sofa and took a seat. Hugging her knees, she curled up and rested her head against the armrest. "I'm kind of sleepy still."

"Sleep, then."

"I can't. Jeb said to get up." Nudge said seriously. She rubbed at her eyes. "Angel is still asleep and Jeb said she and the Gasman could still sleep because they were littler and whatnot, but the rest of us had to get up. So I'm sitting here with you, and you're sitting here on the sofa with me, and Iggy is getting dressed and Fang is peeing." She giggled at this. "He's peeing in the toilet." She giggled again. "He's peeing before he gets dressed and eats breakfast. I saw him go in and then I heard him go pee."

Max, who felt that she was getting a few too many details than she wished, so she turned her back on Nudge and examined her nails further.

It was not long before Fang emerged, closely followed by a fully-dressed Iggy. At the sight of Fang, Nudge began to giggle again, to the point of which the ten year old boy flashed the younger girl a dirty look.

Breakfast was dished up. Jeb had made bacon and toast. He'd only made bacon a few times before, and Max had loved it those few times. She ate without apology, even though having use of only arm made eating more difficult. Once she sent a strip of bacon flying, and it hit Angel in the head. The two year old was just coming over to the table, and when she was struck she immediately started to cry.

Jeb excused himself to his study again. "You guys go on eating," he instructed while soothing an extremely distressed Angel. "I just have to do something."

"With the folding thingy?" Max wanted to know. "The folding thingy you were looking at in your study this morning?"

"What folding thingy?" Nudge piped through a mouthful of buttered toast, as Jeb disappeared into his study.

Max didn't bother chiding Nudge for talking with her mouth full. The more she thought about it, the less she found she cared. Jeb had chided all of them countless times for talking with their mouths full by now, but while Max wished to please Jeb, she saw this bit unnecessary.

"There was a folding thingy on Jeb's desk in his study," Max explained. "I saw it this morning. He was poking it and looking at it. It had a screen on it, like on the TV but tinier."

"What was it?" Nudge asked. She cocked her head to one side. "Was it like, a teeny – tiny TV set?"

Max shrugged. "I don't know. It was just a folding thingy."

Iggy offered, "Maybe it was a computer?"

"A what?" Max echoed.

"A computer. Jeb told me about them," Iggy explained. He gave a half smile. "They're some kind of technology thing."

Max huffed, irritated. Iggy always thought he knew more than she did. Well, they'd see about that! She'd show Iggy that just because he knew what computers were, and he knew all sorts of funny words, she was still boss of him. She decided to tell the others about her dream that night. Not the one where she was at the School, where they'd cut off a corner of her wing. No, not that one.

The one she had with Steel in it, when the little girl had come back to her dreams as a demonic monster. "I had a dream last night," she announced.

Iggy piped up smugly, "No kidding. We dream every night. If we don't, then there's something wrong with us. Not like in our head, but with out bodily function. Apparently dreaming is the number one most uncontrollable bodily function or action." Then, as if sensing the extremely irritated look Max was shooting him, he waved a hand. "Sorry. Go on. Tell me about the dream you had."

Max took a deep breath. "Do you guys remember Steel?"

A stony blanket of silence fell over her Flock. Of course they remembered Steel. She paused grimly before continuing. "She came to me in my dreams last night. But she was a monster in my dream. And, um – " she closed her eyes and took another deep breath – "she made me think of how we always used to say we'd get revenge on Them. You know, like, for what they did to us."

Nods.

"And that got me thinking for a while," she went on, despite the fact that this idea had only just occurred to her a few nanoseconds ago, "that maybe, just maybe, we could infiltrate the School."

"Infiltrate … ?" echoed Iggy. An impish grin spread across his face. "Like, go there and sabotage the place? Okay. I'm up for that."

Max glanced over her shoulder, to make sure Jeb wasn't there, then grabbed a piece of paper and traced a map with her finger. "Listen, you guys. So, we leave tonight. Maybe two in the morning."

"I don't want to leave at night," Nudge whined. "I want to sleep at night. I like my sleep. Um, can we leave at a time closer to, like, noon tomorrow or something? That way we can gets lots and lots of sleep and afterwards, we can get up. We can have a nice breakfast when we've gotten up in the morning and everything, and after that, we can go. Sorry, it's just that I really don't want to get up too early. Can't we leave at noon? Don't you guys all want a nice breakfast, like today? Maybe Jeb will make breakfast, something nice like today. Ooh! Do you think Jeb will make bacon? I'd like to have bacon again. You know, I wonder what bacon is made from. What's it made from? I want to know where bacon comes from. Where does it grow? And, like, does it come from the ground or on trees? I bet it grows on trees. I mean … if bacon grew out of the ground, like potatoes, that'd be strange. Just imagine how strange it would look! So that's why I bet it grows on trees. Bacon trees."

At last she was harshly shushed by Iggy, who clamped a hand over her mouth. Stonily, Nudge fell into silence. She sat back in her chair and looked at Max expectantly.

"We leave at night," Max repeated forcefully. "And after, when we get there, we sneak in and we trash the place up. We _infiltrate _it." This last bit she said with an especially smug tone. She'd show Iggy she knew big words like _infiltrate_.

Iggy gave a salute. "Aye, aye, leader. But one question. How do we get there?"

Max contemplated this for a moment. She didn't know where the School was, of course. It was somewhere. She knew _that_. Where that somewhere was, she didn't know. When she was living there, she'd never left. When Max was younger, she'd thought that the School was the only place in the world. Just one bad place with lots of rooms in it where bad things happened.

There were so many rooms, and when you were young, places like the School seemed much bigger and much more frightening than they were. When she'd been three or four, she thought that the bad rooms went on forever. It seemed there was a horrible room for everything.

There was what she called The Keeping Room, where she and all the other subjects were kept and cramped in their cages. And there was The Birthday Room, where she was taken once a year. There was The Mystery Room. The Mystery Room was where all the experiment took place. And The Free Room. In The Free Room, she would be allowed to fly for short periods of time before they zapped her and then she had to stop.

The worst room, however, was the room Max thought of as The Bad Wolf Man Room. Whenever she hurt the Whitecoats, bit or hit them, she'd be taken to The Bad Wolf Man Room. In The Bad Wolf Man Room, the Bad Wolf Men would come for her. It was there they'd be allowed to do anything they wanted to her, as long as they didn't kill her. If she died later, of course, nobody cared.

It was there she was subject to the worst tortures. Sometimes, they'd take off her pillowcase and drag their claws across her chest and stomach. Sometimes they would break her wings or pull her feathers out. Once, a Bad Wolf Man had a knife. Another Bad Wolf Man had taken her and pinned her against the wall. She'd shut her eyes tightly and secretly prayed that maybe he _would_ kill her. Instead he ripped out one of her feathers, made her eat it. If she didn't, he said, he'd cut off all her hair. She'd been so afraid, but she ate the feather anyhow. The Bad Wolf Man had still cut off all her hair.

So this was what she was getting revenge for.


	11. Vengeance

**Those Little Moments**

OOO

Chapter Eleven … Vengeance

* * *

Max spent the rest of the day thinking about how she was going to slip out of the house without Jeb noticing. She found a backpack in Jeb's study and took it, stuffing it with a selection of clothes for all of them. She didn't have much space so all she had room to pack was a shirt for each of them and an extra few hats.

And food. Plenty of food. Apples. Bananas – bananas were good. She stuffed in a few energy bars and sodas. And then the backpack was full. She only had the room to force in a tin water ball in the side pocket. Then, before Jeb could find her out, Max took the overstuffed backpack and hid it under her bed.

After that came her escape route. She decided she'd try climbing through her window and slipping into the woods. Yes, yes, that sounded like a good plan. Her Flock would conference in their room and then they'd slip out through the window. She made sure the backpack was well hidden before hurrying over to the window to see if she could open it properly. Unfortunately, having one arm in a sling made this task difficult. She called Iggy over.

He could open the window easily, once he felt for the latch. He pushed it open and climbed out, hopping down gently to the ground just below. They'd have to be careful here, for Max's window faced a stretch of jagged rock, near the cliff's edge. Having wings meant falling wouldn't be a problem, but if they tripped on their way out the window they could hurt themselves on the rocks. "Feel how sharp it is," reported Iggy. He picked himself up and handed Max one of the rocks through the window.

She fingered it with her good arm and let out a little yelp when she pricked her finger. A small bead of blood blossomed there and she stared at it before giving the rock back to Iggy. "Put it back," she said, "and come on back in. It's cold. You're going to get sick."

So Iggy climbed back in through the window. He gave Max a skeptical look. "You called me to open the window."

"Well, I couldn't really open it myself. I have a hurt arm." She pointed to her arm, even if he couldn't see it. Iggy, however, did not seem to need any confirmation. He knew what hurt arm Max was talking about.

"The Gasman still can't walk with his hurt ankle. I asked Jeb and he said for a couple more days."

"Then carry him."

Iggy paused. "Maybe we should wait until we're all healed. Your arm and the Gasman's ankle."

Max shook her head and grabbed Iggy's hands. "No. No, no, no. Absolutely _not_. We're leaving today. Tonight."

The nine year old boy shook free of Max's grip and flopped back onto her bed. Closing his eyes, he muttered, "I think I want my sleep. Sleep is important to me. Did you know that we need at least eight hours of sleep each night to maintain a healthy balance for our bodies?"

Max huffed and sat down on the floor, resting her head against the wall. Jeb had put up wallpaper at some point that she hated. Thinking back, she found she could not recall when the wallpaper had been put up. It seemed like it had always been there, and she found it odd she hadn't taken notice of it before. It was ugly as sin. A creamy white color it was splotched in large pink roses. Ugly roses. "Where did you hear _that_?" she demanded.

"Jeb told me. He tells me lots of neat things," Iggy retorted by way of explanation.

Stupid Iggy. He knew so many little things that she didn't. First it was words, then cooking, and apparently, pointless statistics and first aid. She decided to talk to him about his spontaneous spewing of knowledge. It was getting increasingly annoying. "You know, you can stop showing off," she sulked.

Iggy's sightless eyes snapped open at this. He sat up and raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean? When do I ever show off?"

Max pouted. "All the time. _All the time_. You think you're all smart because you know nig words, and cooking, and facts and first aid. Well, you know what? Do you know what, Iggy? It's stupid. Who cares about a bunch of random facts anyway? Or big words? You think it makes you look smart, because you think you're so smart. Just because … just because you're Jeb's favorite! And you know what? Do you know what, Iggy? You're not even his favorite. It's just because he feels the most sorry for you!"

The words slipped out without her meaning them to. She hadn't meant to say that. She hadn't meant to feel that. She didn't think that of Iggy. She didn't think that of Jeb, either. Flushing, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

But Iggy didn't see her cheeks go hot, or see her clap her hand over her mouth. He only heard what she said. A cold, hard, expression took root and his jaw stiffened. A dark look flashed in his eyes.

"Is that it?" His voice was flat and cold. "That's what you think?"

"No … Iggy … no, I didn't mean – " she began to say. It came out a squeak, but he cut her off.

"You're right, Max." Iggy gave a short and bitter little laugh. "You're very much right. I don't think you really mean that, or even feel that. It's something else, isn't it? It's _jealousy_. You're _jealous_. And not even because Jeb teaches me all these things. It's not that – you're just jealous of me. See, that's the thing about you, Max. You want to be our leader, have to be our leader. And that's great. I think you're even kind of a good leader. But it also means that you have to be the best at everything. And you can't stand that I'm better than you at stupid little things, like cooking. Because I'm just nine, and a boy, and I'm blind. And you're almost eleven and tougher. So it bugs you."

He got up and left the room, calling softly over his shoulder, "Tonight, then!"

OoO

Iggy was giving her the silent treatment. For the rest of the day he was not talking to her. It frustrated Max greatly, and she sulked in her room for a long time. She didn't want to think that Iggy's knowledge bothered her. Not because he was younger. That was stupid. She wasn't that much of a fembot.

For the record, Max didn't really know what a "fembot" meant, but she'd heard it used on television and had taken fancy to it. She wondered if Iggy knew the word. Probably not.

After an hour of sulking, she felt a bit better. She wandered into the living room to look at the clock. It was five o'clock now. In a while, she'd go away to get back at the people from the School. The Whitecoats. The Bad Wolf Men, as she'd called them then. They were the Erasers now. This had been Nudge's idea.

She returned to her bedroom, deciding to run through an inventory of everything she'd packed. She didn't know just how long she'd be traveling. It could be a day, or it could be a week. Which direction to travel in, she didn't know either. But she'd figure it out.

Max sorted through the various items in the backpack. Clothes. Well, shirts and hats. The tin water bottle. And the food. Everything she could think of was still there. Except for toothbrushes, but there was no room. And besides, toothbrushes seemed a bit pointless to her.

Just as she was stuffing the backpack under the bed, it occurred to her to pack sweets. Why and how this simple need of existence had escaped her mind, she'd never know. One way or another she would have to bring the sweets with her. Feeling quite foolish, she stood and turned to go out the door, only to yelp and take a step back. She fell backwards onto the bed, painfully bumping her elbow as she went.

Fang was looming silently in the door frame. How long had he been standing there? He looked the same as always – some great and impenetrable wall in his black attire and fringe falling over one eye. Of the six of them, Fang was the only one who looked to be his ten years. To little Max he seemed much bigger.

"Fang!" she snapped, sitting up. "You scared me!"

He gave her a curt nod. "Packing, I see."

She nodded, still scowling. "_Yes_. What do you want?"

He shrugged, and walked away.

OoO

Two in the morning. That was their time. Max hadn't gone to sleep – she lay in bed with the lights out, glaring at the hideous wallpaper. It was probably about two in the morning now. Where were they?

Eventually, they arrived. First Fang and Iggy, who was carrying the Gasman and still giving her the silent treatment. Then Angel, and finally Nudge.

"Are we ready?" Max asked seriously. There were nods.

"Then let's go."


	12. Quitters

**Those Little Moments**

* * *

OOO

Chapter Twelve … Quitters

Max carried Angel. Iggy carried the Gasman. Fang held Nudge's hand. The six of them – six, broken mutant children going through the woods with no idea where they were headed. They only walked straight along the path of revenge, even if they did not know what it meant. All they knew was that, today, they were going to get some kind of revenge for years of suffering.

At two in the morning, woods are bound to be frightening. There was nothing but pure blackness, covering and concealing them. The only source of light was the faintest silvery glow emitted by the moon. There came the occasional hoot of an owl or a flutter of wings. Critters of all kinds scuttled to and fro, their little claws scraping against the fallen tree branches that littered the earth floor. Roots crawled and twisted wickedly onto the nonexistent path. There was no path in these woods, and Max often found herself stumbling or jumping as something scampered over her feet.

Angel was wide awake now, her little chin resting against Max's shoulder. The older girl could feel the toddler's breathing, faint and shaky, against the nape of her neck. She wanted to reassure the little girl, but if she did, her voice might break. For she was a bit terrified herself.

They walked on. After a while, little Angel fell back asleep. Her light weight sagged and, struggling slightly, Max hoisted her back onto her hip. Needless to say, it was not especially easy to do this with one arm in a sling and a heavy backpack weighing her down. The backpack probably weighed as much as Angel did!

Sometimes, Nudge would start to talk about something, which was only understandable because, after all, she was Nudge. She, of all six, could bear the silence the least. Perhaps it was a sort of _need_ she had, a need to speak. A need to have her voice heard. She was not used to being heard, of having people listen and care about what she had to say. And at seven, she was just young and old enough to care. She was blunt with her words, but more often short statements spun off into long rants. It was how she was damaged and broken, just as we all are. And so every once in a while the seven year old would open her mouth to comment on something, but before she long she'd be silenced with a sharp hiss from Max, or Fang, or more often, Iggy.

She did not know for how long she walked. A long time, it seemed to the ten year old. An eternity. But when you are ten, time moves much more slowly. It ticks on endlessly, agonizingly, for all of time. It stretched on like an elastic band. But every minute is always the same sixty seconds. Every day is the same twenty four hours. But while Max felt as if they'd been walking aimlessly in these woods for hours, it had really only been fifteen minutes or so.

OoO

Jeb's alarm was set, as in always was, to five-thirty in the morning. This was one of the few things he did _not_ find especially spectacular about his work. Ever since he'd been a boy he had not liked waking early.

With a groan and a curse of the hour, he rolled over and slammed his fist down hard on the alarm clock's button. Its angry blaring was silenced. He lay there for a while, hoping the alarm had not woken the children. Normally he closed his door, but he hadn't tonight – he'd been much too tired after dealing with Iggy, who wanted to learn more about cooking – and had merely felt a bit too lazy to close it.

Another groan and he rose from bed, stretching his arms and slipping his feet into slippers. He paused, listened. The house was still with silence. Thankfully the alarm hadn't seemed to have woken the children. With a sigh, he treaded over to his study and began to go over the subject's files. He's supposed to send a report on the current health of Subject Eleven, Angel. He clicks on the file and her face fills the screen. Her skinny little neck, fragile. Her face with its cheeks that have managed to maintain some toddler's chubbiness. Wispy blond hair and her big, dark blue eyes. She looks so much like a little bird in the picture, even without her wings showing.

Jeb typed up a brief report and sent it to the Director. He glanced at the clock at the bottom of the monitor. It was now past seven, and there were still no signs of life coming from any of the bedrooms – not even Fang's, who was an early riser.

Frowning slightly now, he got up and walked down the hall. Every footstep seemed louder than it should on the carpeted floor. _Thump. Thump. Thump. _What if something had gone wrong? A sudden and severe bout of illness? That could happen … couldn't it have? Jeb had worked himself into a thorough panic now as he ripped open the door to Maximum's room. She was not in her bed, nor anywhere to be seen in her room. Her blankets were partially thrown off of her bed, gathered in a messy pool on the floor. It was unusually chilly in the room, as if there were a draft, and it took Jeb a moment to discover its source. The window. The window, open wide, and the wind blowing in freely.

Cursing now, Jeb turned and all but ran into the next room, Angel's and Nudge's room. Both of their beds unoccupied. And Fang's room, the one he shared with the Gasman. Empty. Jeb cursed more freely now. It was Iggy's room he checked last. It, too, was uninhabited.

And there were no clues as to where they could have gone. Just one open window. He sank to his knees in a moment of despair. He had just lost some of the most important children of all time, and he didn't even know why. Just that it was his fault.

OoO

After what seemed to Max to be a few hundred centuries but was really just an hour and a half, they stopped. Her arms were sore from carrying Angel and supporting the weight of the backpack. But she had to keep going … Where to, she didn't know. Over the hour and a half, they'd trekked through nothing but thick woods. Not even a clearing or road in sight.

But after another several minutes she could take it no longer. Exhausted, she gasped out, "Guys, we are taking a break," and sank down to the forest floor. She nestled herself between the thick folds of tree roots and closed her eyes as she rested her head against the fat tree trunk.

The relieved members of her Flock collapsed down too. Iggy sat the Gasman down and spread his leg out before allowing himself to fall ungracefully to the floor. Fang sat down next to him, and began to do what he always did: be Fang. Only Nudge, who seemed to have an endless supply of energy, climbed up into the branches and sat there, seemingly at ease. She sat back and pulled her feet up, apparently not afraid in the least that she might fall out – despite the fact that she wasn't high enough to snap out her wings in time if she _did_ fall.

" … Hey, Max?" Nudge said after a long stretch of silence. Her only answer from Max was a faint groan, so she interpreted this as a kind of encouragement to keep on going. Happily she prattled on. "Max. So, I was thinking … while we were walking, I mean, well, what I mean is that we don't really know where to go. Right? The School could be anywhere. Let's go back and find out where it is."

Tiredly, Max raised her head and glowered up at the seven year old. "We can't go back. You know that we can't go back. Jeb will catch us and make us stay. Don't you want to get back at them? For what they did to us?" The truth was, Max was a bit aware of the aimlessness of the situation. She _didn't_ know where she was going, nor which way back was. But they could only go forward.

Nudge fell silent. She turned away. "Okay. Well, it's just that … even if we go there, they'll catch us. I think they still want us. Jeb took us away and hid us. But I thought they were looking for us still …"

"Nudge … "

And once again, the seven year old fell silent again. She turned away and sighed in a way that suggested maturity beyond her seven years. Even if nobody recognized it. After a short while, Max distributed food – half an apple for each of them, which she cut open with a sharp stone. They ate silently, and then slept for what felt like the longest time.

When they woke again, it was much later in the day. Nudge had miraculously managed to stay balanced on her branch during her rest. She mumbled protests when she was shaken, and turned her face away.

"Come on, Nudge. Come on, we have to get going."

"_Mmm_," she mumbled. Then she sat up a bit straighter and her large, chocolate brown eyes widened. "Oh!"

Max stood on her tiptoes. "What? What is it?" From behind her, she heard a voice say:

"Road. There's a road." This voice was the small, lisping voice of Angel, coming from down below Max's feet. The toddler was still sitting cross-legged on the forest floor, half invisible for the underbrush. She was looking up with seemingly perfect calm, hugging her parka tight. A smile widened on her tiny face. And then, just in case there was any confusion, she repeated herself: "There's a road. Been walking beside it the whole time."

From how high she stood, Max could not see any road, nor could she see one when she crouched low, to Angel's level. No road at all. Giving the two year old an odd look, she asked, "A road? Where?"

"Nudge see it," the little girl explained, pointing at Nudge. "In Nudge's head." She tapped her temple and smiled. She seemed to find this perfectly natural and normal – that she'd read Nudge's _mind_.

Max shook her head furiously. "Angel. What are you saying?"

Angel smiled again. "Nudge's mind," she said bluntly. "Read her mind."

This seemed to greatly distress the Gasman, who leaned forwards and demanded to know how Angel was reading minds. He was sure he could do it too. After all, the little boy argued, they were siblings. So how come he couldn't do it? Here he tried very hard to read his younger sister's mind, but to no avail. With a sigh of frustration, he crossed his arms and sulked, now in a silent fit. Here he seemed to take after Max.

Max, meanwhile, was struggling to process this. She felt that she shouldn't be shocked by this fact, and she was shocked that she was shocked. After all, she had wings. The Gasman could mimic any noise or voice. Why should Angel's mind reading abilities even come as a surprise? She had _wings_. But there was a fine line between the fact that she was a mutant, and that their youngest member could now read _minds_. As though she were psychic. What a strange and frightening concept to grasp!

She was pulled from her reverie by the sound of gravel crunching. She didn't know what it was, but the sound was coming from the road. Letting go of Angel's shoulders, Max trotted over to the road, ducking under Nudge's branch as she went.

What she saw was a van. Driving very slowly down the road. It took Max a moment to place where she'd seen this van. And then she recalled: it was Jeb's. Too late, she tried to duck back into the trees. But the van was already stopping and Jeb was getting out.

She still tried to run, but in the confused scramble, she tripped. Jeb's strong arms wrapped around her waist, and she screamed and cried out – "No! No no no let go of me let go stop it I have to get back I have to go back no no no no no … " But he was pulling her back and she was screaming unable to do anything and then she was in the van and the door was closing and she was still screaming and beating her fist against the window …

At the sound of her shouts, the others all appeared. Seeing Jeb, they froze. Only Iggy continued moving forward, and was quickly gathered in the arms of Jeb. The blind nine year old squirmed, but grudgingly allowed himself to be hauled over to the van.

The drive back was silent. Max curled up, resting her chin on her knees. She began to sob, heavily and without apology, sniffing ungraciously. She whispered shakily, over and over, "We have to get back at them …" until at last they arrived at the house. Jeb carried her inside, with the others trailing on behind. He lowered her into a chair at the table and silently approached the kitchen, beginning to prepare breakfast. She was still dressed in her coat and hat. These she took off and threw on the floor. The rest of her Flock grimly joined her.

It was not until breakfast – granola and milk – was served, that Jeb finally addressed them. "So, where did you guys go? I mean, where were you planning to go?"

Max didn't answer, so Iggy took the reins. "We were going to go back to the School. But then you caught us."

"Yes," Jeb said softly. "I did. But how did you know where on Earth to _find_ that place? Wait. Wait. Why on Earth did you want to go back there?"

Max answered this time. "I … _we_ wanted to get _back_ at them. For what they did. We wanted to trash the place up."

"Like, sabotage," Iggy offered helpfully.

Jeb forced a chuckle. "Oh. I see. Okay. Okay. I need to you rest now. You're not going back there. You'd just be caught."

"But – "

He shushed her gently. "You got your revenge already. You broke free."


	13. Epilogue: Departure

**Those Little Moments**

* * *

Author's Note: I am sorry to announce that this final installation of _Those Little Moments _marks my final fanfiction for Maximum Ride. I'm very sorry if any of you were hoping for more from me in this genre, but unfortunately, I can't. I've moved on from Maximum Ride and I think I did a long time ago. It was a short period of obsession, a fad, and thinking back I don't see why I liked it as much as I did. It's much more childish than what I'm used to. I find that I don't think about Maximum Ride at all anymore, not like I do Les Misérables, Doctor Who, Orphan Black, the Gemma Doyle trilogy, and Harry Potter. Again, I'm sorry, especially since the epilogue is really short – but I will be writing quite a lot for other genres.

Also, please note that the first parts of this chapter are intentionally written in the present tense.

* * *

OOO

Epilogue … Departure

_Two years later_

The world goes on, after pain. It goes on after tragedy and hurt. Because that is the way it's built. If we do not go on allowing ourselves to survive, we will not. We must fight against its injustices and swim against the current, not let it carry us away. The world is a hard and cruel place, imperfect just as much as we are. Sometimes, it's just as simple as that.

It has been just under two years since Maximum's decision to go and infiltrate the School. She hadn't known what she was doing, or where she was going. Little to her knowledge, however, she and the "Flock" had been walking in circles for hours, just half a mile from the house.

She has a last name now. Ride. Maximum Ride. It happened on her eleventh birthday. She asked for a last name, and Jeb told his daughter, "Why don't you pick one yourself?" And she did. She decided on Ride. None of the other children wanted or took on a last name.

She is twelve years old now. Twelve and a half. She's matured a great deal since the day she was taken from her cage at the Lab. No longer a pitiful and frightened creature, but a bold, stubborn, and cocky preteen. She's also grown almost pretty, Jeb notes fondly of his daughter. Her cheeks are no longer hollow and gaunt. They are fresh and healthy. Her dark eyes are often bright and happy – or more, often, dark with irritation. Her mane of light brown curls have become tamable. However, the most important thing is that she's taken the upper hand, dubbed herself leader.

Her progress has been noted.

The others, too, have shown great signs of progress over the past two years. Iggy's become a skilled young chef, despite his lack of eyesight, and is capable of making almost anything on his own. He's also the only one who's shown the slightest interest in education. Unfortunately for Jeb, he's also become sarcastic to the point of driving him insane. Almost everything out of his mouth is some kind of biting comment, and a clever one too. Even worse is his developing pyromania. He's trained himself to build various bombs and explosives. So far Jeb has lost the van, part of the kitchen, and an old abandoned shed. The eleven year old even has a little partner in crime – the Gasman. Once, Jeb tried to confiscate his bombs, but with a bit of help from his six year old spy Iggy only picked the lock of Jeb's wardrobe. However, he was also very warm and, as Jeb observed, the best with the children.

Nudge had grown into a charming nine year old. Still with her small smile and big brown doe's eyes, still that unruly mass of curls, and still that bright and chipper attitude. She'd been fondly dubbed by Iggy: The Nudge Channel. "All Nudge, all the time," he'd say, just as she swatted him on the back of the head. She was the follower, this was clear. She obeyed Maximum's orders and almost always smiled.

Fang had not changed much. Jeb suspected he must have uttered about ten words over the past two years! He refused to cut his dark hair, and it now hung past his shoulders. One stubborn, shaggy fringe hid one eye, and he didn't seem to want to brush it away. Fang was the one that unsettled Jeb the most. He still didn't seem to fully trust Jeb at times, often glaring or looking him up and down with a cool expression. He was different, Jeb thought, than the others. More mature in a strange way. As far as the subjects went he hadn't really shown much progress.

And then there was Angel. Angel, Angel, Angel. Barely four years old and power beyond imaginable. On her own, the little girl honed her power to read minds. And, Jeb predicted, in a few years she would develop her mind controlling abilities. She was a sweet girl, though. An … _angel_. All big and cherubic blue eyes. She was quieter than the others, content to color in pictures of kittens in her room, or singing to her teddy bear, which she'd called Teddy. He never caught her giving him even the slightest suspicious or sidelong glance. Oftentimes, the little girl would curl up next to him and ask for a story. One look with those Bambi eyes and his heart would nearly melt, every time.

Today Jeb was leaving them behind. Part B of the experiment had to be conducted. It was all for the greater good.

* * *

Right now it was midnight. All the children were in bed, and Jeb had just set up the cameras. There were several outside, and hidden in the branches of the trees in the woods. Of course, the cameras and recording devices had been set up beforehand, but now he was activating them. He approved the activation for every camera but the one in his daughter's bedroom. Despite the fact that Jeb was going against orders, he felt he had to say goodbye.

Not a real goodbye of course.

She was sleeping, curled into fetal position with her long hair spread out behind her in a halo. Her chest, rising and falling rhythmically in sleep. One arm out of the blankets, hugging them closer. She was wearing her favorite pajamas, he noted with a half-smile. The black ones with the TARDIS on the front, and a caption reading, _You never forget your first Doctor_. The bottoms, he knew, were etched in a print pattern of Daleks and Cybermen.

Sitting on the edge of her bed now, he shook her shoulder gently. "Maximum. Maximum."

She moaned and rolled over. "Lemme sleep," she mumbled into her pillow.

He shook her again. "Listen. Maximum."

She opened her eyes blearily and scowled up at him. "What? 'M'sleeping."

"I'm going to the city, okay? Getting some groceries. There's still a bit of food in the fridge and cupboards if you're hungry, and money in the back of my closet. You know that, right, hon?"

She nodded and fall back against her pillows. "Let me sleep, Jeb."

He nodded. "Right. Okay. I love you."

Her only response was the throwing of her extra pillow across the room. Jeb ducked, and it hit the wall. He did not pick the pillow up. Instead, he ducked into his study and activated the final hidden camera. Then, closing his laptop, he walked into the hall, tucked the computer into his jacket and walked out the door, locking it behind him. He climbed into the van and drove off without so much as a backward glance.

And that was it.

**The End.**

**::**


End file.
